Act Nice and Gentle
by Mrs.Monster
Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This, unfortunately, is just how hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meets New York refugee, Rebecca Sumpter. Daryl/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**

**Author's Note: First chapter of my first Walking Dead fic. I already have a few chapters of this written and ready to go, so I'll keep it at a weekly update, that way I should always have a chapter ready to go. The title of this story comes from The Black Keys song Act Nice and Gentle. The song really has nothing to do with the story, but somehow, the title works for the story.**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>

**Chapter 1**

Rebecca was speeding down I-85, her tan jeep peaking at 78 mph, the black asphalt disappearing under her tires. Alice in Chains blared from her speakers, and she kept time with her palm against the steering wheel. She managed ten miles before she had to slow way down to ease her way around a group of abandoned cars. Steering the Jeep on the shoulder, she by-passed 4 cars, their hoods crunched and tangled, connecting them all.

She'd been driving for days. The trip from New York to Atlanta, under normal circumstances, should have only taken around 15 hours. Along the way, though, she'd had to stop for supplies, bathroom breaks, and meals-out-of-cans. Every time, she'd had to fight off at least 1 or 2 walkers; the most she'd taken on on her own had been 10. After that incident she'd raided a place called Al's Gun Shop in some tiny little town in Virginia called Moneta, just outside of Roanoke. The size of the town likely accounted for the remaining stores of guns and ammo. It'd caused an ache in her heart to give up her double barrel, but after the run-in with just under a dozen walkers, she hadn't had a choice. They'd been grabbing at her, and there was no possible way for her to stop and reload, having to brain the rest with the butt of her shotgun, wielding it like a ball bat. The double-barrel, which she'd named Nora, still rode in the back of the Jeep among her stores of food and t.p. Another thing she'd made sure to stock after the first time she'd had to go Rambo and wipe her ass with a few leaves after her first trip into natures restroom.

The exit sign for 248A, riddled with bullet holes and swinging in the wind, loomed ahead, and she felt a tiny shrivel of hope rise in her chest. When she'd evacuated New York, managing to sneak passed the hordes of soldiers that were 'decontaminating' New Yorkers, she'd headed straight for Atlanta. Rebecca'd been told that Atlanta was a safe zone. Granted, she'd been told by a man standing on a street, wearing a sandwich board with the words 'THE END IS HERE' printed in large red letters, but hey, who was she to question the hard-core bible thumpers?

She sped along the exit-ways, punching off the stereo as she slowed and pulled into the city. Immediately, she slammed on her brakes, coming to an idling stop.

The street marked West Washington was completely jammed with mangled wreckage. Civilian vehicles, army vehicles, she could even see a fucking tank in the distance, clogged the street, leaving no room for maneuvering. Rebecca felt her heart sink to the bottoms of her feet.

This was no safe zone. Rebecca switched off her Jeep and grabbed her rifle, then hopped out, her booted feet slapping against the cracked pavement. She checked the mag of her M16 (Samantha), thankful to find it fully loaded. The stench of rot filled the air, assaulting her senses. Rebecca stuffed her keys into the pocket of her olive cargo-shorts and walked to the back of her Jeep.

She opened the back and slung Samantha across her back, unzipping the military-style duffel bag that sat in front of her boxes of food rations. She grabbed a set of .38 semi-automatics -Seth and Jonah- out of her bag, and tucked them into the back of her shorts, tugging her once-white A-shirt over the weapons. Rebecca snatched a box of cartridges out of her bag-o-goodies, adding them to the other various contents of her pockets. She wandered into the city, keeping Samantha across her back, clutching a piece of metal pipe about the size of her leg in her hands, ready to swing-away if need be.

The farther she wandered, the more any remaining hope she'd had in her dried up.

There was nothing but death here. Whether it be the walking-dead, or the permanently dead, nothing remained here.

Bodies littered the streets, rancid, bloated under the blazing Atlanta sun. Walkers were every-fucking-where. Rebecca stepped as quietly and as quickly as she could, but they were beginning to notice her. Sense the blood that rushed through her, smell her flesh. She tightened her grip on the pipe, knowing to wait until the last possible moment before putting one of the guns to use; better try and fight them off by hand than draw more with the loud reports. Rebecca didn't know what she was looking for. She should have just turned around, climbed back in the Jeep, and kept driving. But to where? A smaller town, perhaps. She kept on, a white knuckle grip on her blunt object, being as stealthy as she possibly could.

The city was quiet, save for the mindless groans and grunts of the walkers. Rebecca had been to Atlanta once before, 3 years ago on vacation. Then, the city had been bustling. People had milled about, not frantically, or impatiently like the New Yorkers she was use to, but they'd still been everywhere. The memory was a stark contrast to this gutted waste of a city.

She was coming up on the tank, and strained her ears in the vain hope that someone, someone living, might be inside, but there was nothing. Making a circuit around the tank, she spotted a large duffle on the ground, a bag very much like the one she had in the back of her Jeep. Rebecca toed the back with her brown boot, and sure enough, there was a familiar clank of metal on metal. Tucking her pipe under her arm, casting a glance around for walkers- they were still a few blocks away, but they'd definitely noticed her- she squatted down and unzipped the bag.

"Holy fuck," she whispered to herself. Inside the bag was an arsenal that rivaled her own.

"Oh shit," she heard someone mutter a few feet away from her, and her head snapped up as she grabbed Seth from the back of her shorts. Rebecca aimed her .38 at the Korean who stood a small distance from her, and he took a step back, holding his hands up.

"Don't shoot. I-I just came for the bag," he said, then a little more confidently, "that's our bag." The kid was wearing a faded red ball cap over his shining, sweat-soaked black hair. His eyes were wide, and unless the kid was a great actor, there was real fear there. Rebecca stood, put the safety back on Seth, and returned him to his place next to Jonah.

"Take 'em then," she said, giving the bag another nudge. Relief was evident on his face as he moved forward, snatched the bag up, and turned, beginning to sprint in the other direction. "Grab the hat and come on!" he said over his shoulder. Hat? The fuck about a hat? It was then Rebecca noticed the deputy's stetson laying on the ground. She found herself snatching it up and following him. He was the first living person she'd run across in weeks-short of Bible Thumpin' Bob, as she'd named him- and Rebecca had questions. She ran after him, holding onto Samantha so she wouldn't bounce painfully against her back (she was a heavy bitch) and followed him into a gated alley. Walkers veered in their direction, but she pulled the gate closed behind them. Holding it with her forearm, Rebecca turned, hat and pipe under her arm, to come face to face with a man wielding a crossbow.

"Oh for fucks sakes," was her only response before rolling her eyes and scanning the area for something to wedge against the gate to keep it shut. Eyeing the distance between the ground and the lock hatch, Rebecca realized that her pipe would be long enough, and strong enough, to keep it shut. The walkers weren't pressing hard- they would run into the gate and bounce back a few steps, before drudging forward again. Dropping the hat to the ground, she wedged the pipe there and took a few cautious steps back. A walker ran into the the gate, and it rattled, but the pipe held.

Rebecca turned and saw that the man was still pointing his crossbow in her face, and the Korean kid was hovering behind him, the bag of guns still hoisted oh his shoulder, making him lean heavily to the left.

"Would you mind getting that out of my face?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You know where my brother is?" he asked, a thick, deep drawl dragging his words out. Rebecca saw the kid roll his eyes and shake his head.

"What in the fuck are you talking about? Brother? Dude, I just rolled into town about 15 minutes ago," Rebecca peered at him over the tip of his bow. "Have you gone in the head a little? I know quite a few people who have, and I don't blame you in the least. I'm kind of jealous, actually. Wish I could go crazy and just be done with it." The kid was pressing his lips together, trying not to laugh. Rebecca was pressing her lips together for an entirely different reason. Sometimes, her brain and her mouth refused to cooperate with each other, and she just didn't know when to shut up. While she'd been talking, though, the crazy man had moved his crossbow a hair at a time, out of her face.

He didn't seem to notice the man in the uniform and the hulking black man moving stealthily down the alley toward them. Rebecca and the kid had both noticed, but the man with the sandy brown hair and the rather large mole hadn't, so when the law-man (she was going by the uniform, here) dropped a hand onto the crossbow toting man's shoulder, he jumped about a foot in the air, his body going ridged, his hands forming fists. Unfortunately for Rebecca, one of those fists was still wrapped around the trigger of his crossbow, and pointed in her general direction.

The bolt went into her shoulder and lodged there, pain immediately lancing through her entire upper body. Her eyebrows shot up, and she just looked at the quivering arrow sticking out of her person for a few seconds, before screaming. It was a short, but piercing scream. The fresh wave of blood and the noise put the walkers on the other side of the gate into a frenzy, and they were bouncing off the fencing at an alarming pace, like kamikaze bumblebees. Rebecca, chest heaving, fixed the insane man with the glare.

"What the fuck, dude," she seethed with gasping breaths. "You fucking shot me!" she rushed forward, and he backed away from her, hands raised in the hair, crossbow held over his head. Rebecca backed him to the wall, and began kicking his legs with all her might. "You shot me! Dick!" He was dancing around, trying to avoid the fury of her kicking feet, but she kept on until someone grabbed her 'round the middle and hauled her back.

"Let go of me!" she yelled. "He fucking shot me! I'm gonna kick the shit out of him!" There was a low chuckle in her ear.

"As amusing as seeing Daryl get his ass kicked would be, he shot you by accident." It was the law-man who had hold of her, and she kicked at his legs. But, of course, he had experience restraining frantic women, so she couldn't land a single blow.

"That makes it okay?" She jerked hard in his arms, and another shock of pain went through her. "Fuck," she whimpered, "that fucking hurts." She shot another glare and the insane man, _Daryl. _"Dick," she repeated. The law-man set her on her feet, and she clutched her shoulder with her good hand, and backed away from them.

"We can't linger here," the law-man told the group. The tag on his wrinkled, tan-and-brown uniform shirt read 'Grimes'. "C'mon," he said to her, "you can come back to camp with us. We'll get your arm fixed up." Rebecca grit her teeth together as a fresh wave of pain hit her at the reminder. It was the best option. She'd never be able to get her arm doctored on her own.

"My Jeep, though. I've got to go back for my Jeep. All of my food rations, my weapons, my clothes, it's all in there. I've got to go get it."

"Where'd you leave it?" the hulking, dark-skinned man asked.

"Right at the mouth of the city. On West Washington, I think it was," she told them. Grimes hesitated.

"Alright, Glenn, T-Dog, you guys go for the Jeep, meet us back at camp." He turned back toward the rest of us, mouth open to speak, but Rebecca cut him off.

"No, I go with my Jeep," she said firmly. "No offense, but how do I know you won't take off with all my shit?"

"You just got shot," the one she assumed was T-Dog said, "you wanna run around with a bunch of geeks, spouting fresh blood?" He shook his head. Rebecca jerked her head toward Daryl.

"He can come with me. Watch my back. He is the dick that shot me, after all. Besides, I've got Samantha if it really comes down to it."

"Samantha?" the kid, Glenn, said, confusion in his voice.

With her good arm, Rebecca reached behind her slowly, and brought Sammy around front, giving her a pat. "This is Samantha." Grimes let out a low whistle.

"Fine, then," he said. "Glenn, go with Daryl and... I'm sorry, we didn't get your name."

"Rebecca," she told them, "Rebecca Sumpter."

"Go with Daryl and Rebecca, get the Jeep. Then back to camp." Everyone but Daryl seemed to agree with this plan.

"What about Merle?" he asked, sounding a little petulant. He had his crossbow in front of him, pointed toward the ground, and he was glaring around the little group.

"Your brother's name is Merle?" Rebecca asked, and he shot her a glare. She quickly told herself to shut the hell up, and pressed her lips together again.

"We'll all keep a look out for him," Grimes assured Daryl.

Daryl let out a loud snort, then set off down the alley, away from the gated walkers. Rebecca and Glenn followed close behind, Rebecca keeping Samantha close to her chest with her good arm. Glenn quickened his pace, heading up the front. He seemed to have a higher knowledge of the routes and side streets and led them to West Washington. They only met two walkers, Daryl dispatching both quickly.

The reached the Jeep and Rebecca slipped Samantha's strap from around her shoulders carefully, setting it in the back on top of her gun bag. She fished the keys out of her pocket, and automatically strode around to the drivers side, cradling her bad arm against her body. The arm that still had the arrow sticking out of it.

"You outta let me pull that out," Daryl said, looking at her from the corner of his eye from where he stood by the drivers side mirror. She let out a sigh, blowing the hair out of her face.

"Yeah, alright," she said. "Go ahead." Rebecca leaned against the side of her Jeep, her hands resting on her thighs.

"Got a t-shirt or somethin' you don't mind parting with?" he asked. "The bloods gonna start flowing again soon as I pull it out." Rebecca blew her breath out between her teeth.

"There's a towel in one of my bags," she said, and Glenn started rooting around in the back of the Jeep, looking for said towel. He found it in the first bag he looked in, then came rushing around the Jeep, handing it to Daryl.

"Sorry," Daryl muttered, bracing one hand on my shoulder, wrapping the other hand around the arrow. Rebecca wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for shooting her, or this new pain. Both, maybe. Then he was pulling it out, and she was closing her eyes, grinding her teeth together, trying not to cry out. The new blood would be enough of a draw to the walkers, we didn't need anything else to bring them down on us. A searing, burning pain throbbed around the wound, and Rebecca looked down to see the bolt coming out of her flesh, and Daryl immediately pressed the faded blue towel against her shoulder, trying to ebb the fresh flow.

"Keep that there," he said, then took the keys from her hands. Rebecca couldn't find it in herself to protest. She just climbed into the passenger seat as Glenn scrambled into the narrow backseat. She rolled her eyes when Daryl jumped into the driver's seat Dukes of Hazard style. The Jeep started right up, and with a muted rumble, Daryl accelerated, turning them around, heading back out of town. Rebecca pressed the towel against her shoulder, and leaned back against her seat.

"So where's this camp Grimes was talking about?" she asked after a few moments of tense silence. Daryl cut his eyes to her, keeping a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"Out at an old quarry, about 20 miles from here," Glenn supplied from the back seat.

"Thank you, Glenn," she said over the seat. Rebecca looked back to Daryl who had his eyes fixed on the road. "I'm sorry about your brother," she said to him. His head snapped in her direction. "Even if you are a dick, I'm still sorry."

"Thanks, I guess," he grumbled. Rebecca leaned forward, reaching for the radio slowly. She punched the power button with her thumb and 'Them Bones' continued mid-song. Daryl's face twitched slightly, and he gave her a brief, somewhat surprised look. She just shrugged with her good shoulder, and closed her eyes, leaning back again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Well... what's the verdict? What do you think of Rebecca? I'm kind of fond of her, myself. I'll post chapter 2 next Friday, and we'll see more of Rebecca's back story, along with a few other things.<strong>

**Review, if you'd like. And you really should. Every time you read, and don't review, a fairy dies.**

**Think about it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing even remotely related to the Walking Dead.**

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**

**Author's Note: Second chapter of Act Nice and Gentle. Thanks so much for the reviews, alerts and favorites the last chapter brought in. This chapter was pre-read by my fic-partner, lifelesslyndsey and beta'd by the fabulous nicimarie. Kind of a short chapter, but it gives us a little bit of a look at Rebecca.**

**Author's Note Part Deux: Uploaded the unbeta'd chapter. *facepalm* Here's the beta'd version.**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>

**Chapter 2**

If there was anything that Rebecca Sumpter was not, it was a girly-girl. Even before the world went to shit, she wasn't one to stay up late at night, sighing over men or letting anyone else handle anything for her. She'd learned at a young age that trust was not something to be given lightly, and if anything seemed to be really good, it would soon end.

Her mother had died when she was 5, leaving her looks to her daughter as her legacy. Red hair with strands of blonde so bright they looked white, amber-brown eyes and a small, upturned nose. She had full lips that would quirk up on the right side if she were amused, and straight, white teeth that gleamed when she laughed. Rebecca was not tall by any means, she was 5 feet 4 inches tall, but never let it hinder her. She was mostly leg, with creamy white skin, splattered with freckles from head to foot.

Rebecca's father had been a man who liked his drink. In fact, he liked it more than he did his young daughter, who reminded him of her mother at every turn. Rebecca had run away from her father's home when she was sixteen, and she'd never gone back. Not even when she'd seen his obituary in the paper six years later. She held nothing but resentment toward the man, but she didn't let it rule her life.

After she left, she'd continued with her schooling, thriving after she was out from under her father's thumb. She worked part time waitressing, and lived in a tiny apartment in a not-so-nice part of the city. Rebecca had felt the first threads of self assurance take hold of her when she'd graduated from high school at the top of her class, and had gotten a full ride to whatever college she desired. She'd been twenty-four when she'd graduated college with a degree in English, and six months later had gotten hired at a prestigious publishing company right there in New York City.

When the outbreak began and everything had gone from normal, to bad, to total shit-storm, Rebecca had had a thriving career, a nice apartment, and a not-so-booming social life. She'd bunkered down in New York as long as she could, until they began the 'decontaminations'. This consisted of soldiers marching into the city, rounding people up in groups, and shooting them dead. No tests. No questioning. Just eradication. They burned buildings, shops, homes. It was then that Rebecca had decided to get the hell out of dodge.

Now, here she was, some weeks later, riding shotgun in her Jeep, an arrow wound in her shoulder, next to an aggravated redneck with a small Korean dude in the back. She'd had to resist the urge more than once to ask him if he wanted to be her little lucky charm, but since she figured it would probably be considered rude, she clamped down on the temptation. They were headed toward a camp at some quarry, and she rode along with more than a little apprehension.

She fiddled with the knob on the stereo, turning the volume down, cutting 'Enter Sandman' off in the middle of the solo.

"How much longer?" she asked.

"'Bout another half mile," Daryl told her, and she sighed with relief. They were now trundling down an unpaved road, and with every bump, it felt like she was being shot all over again. When they finally did arrive at the camp, their welcoming party all raised a different kind of weapon at them.

"Real friendly people around here, aren't you?" Rebecca asked derisively. "At least none of these whakos has a crossbow. I don't think I could handle having two of them leveled at me in one day." Grimes and T-Dog emerged from the group, and Grimes shouted for everyone to put their weapons down. Glenn hopped out of the Jeep, and opened Rebecca's door, helping her out. Daryl jumped out much the same way he'd jumped in. As soon as his booted feet hit the ground, he strode off, ducking into a dark blue tent on the outskirts of the camp. Glenn gave her a pat on the back, then walked off to talk to a blonde girl who looked to be about his age.

The rest of the group stepped back as Grimes stepped forward. He seemed to be the leader. Rebecca noticed the hat that she'd picked up situated on his head, and figured that he must have seen it before he and T-Dog took off.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked, gesturing to where she still had the towel firmly pressed against the wound.

"Eh," she said, trying for a joking grin, "I've had worse." Grimes cocked his head.

"You have?"

"No, not really." As soon as the words left Rebecca's mouth, she began to sway on her feet. The blood flow had dwindled, but still wasn't staunched completely, and Rebecca knew that she'd lost quite a bit. Grimes caught her before she could hit the ground, and she was lifted up, and carried a few feet to one of the many tents that were set up. She was lowered down onto something semi-soft (a helluva lot softer than the hard Jeep seat she'd been sleeping on) and someone had pulled the towel away from her shoulder. It was a deep puncture wound, nearly going completely through her shoulder.

"Who pulled it out?" Grimes asked, and Rebecca opened her eyes to see him hovering above her, a woman hovering over his shoulder.

"Daryl," Rebecca answered. "He said he was sorry." She licked her lips. "He's still a dick, but now he's a sorry dick." The woman standing behind Grimes cracked a small smile. Rebecca closed her eyes again and was asleep within minutes, despite the pain.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. Leave a review if you loved it as much as... eh, waffles. If you hate waffles, pancakes then, but really, who hates waffles?<strong>

**Next chapter up on Saturday.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Walking Dead**

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to meet someone. This is, unfortunately, just ow New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter meets hot-tempered country boy, Daryl Dixon. Daryl/OC**

**Author's Note: Happy Saturday! Here's the next chapter of AN&G. Thanks so much for all the reviews, alerts and faves. This chapter was beta'd by the lovely nicimarie, be sure to check out her many fantastic Boondock Saints fics.**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>

**Chapter 3**

In the weeks that followed Rebecca's arrival at the camp, she'd made friends with many of the women, and nearly all of the men. She said nearly all, because there were two who she hadn't tried to speak to at all. There was, of course, Daryl, who hardly spent any time at the camp at all, he was either always tromping around the forest hunting, or sitting in his tent, polishing that stupid crossbow or something. She didn't know what he got up to in there, and she didn't want to know. The other was Ed Peletier. Everything about the man rubbed her wrong. His behavior toward his wife and daughter were a little too familiar, hit a little too close to home. Ed hadn't bothered to introduce himself, and she hadn't made the effort either, and she preferred for it to stay that way.

Her shoulder was back to full working order, now only loosely wrapped with bandages that she had to change once a day. At the moment she was headed down to the quarry lake with Andrea, a headstrong blonde who'd also been a career woman before all of this; Jacqui, a tall, beautiful black woman who'd once worked for the Atlanta Zoning Commission; Carol (Rebecca didn't know much about her, other than the fact that she was Ed's wife); and Amy, Andrea's younger sister who was only 19, and had just begun her freshman year of college, getting a degree in fashion design when the outbreak happened. They were headed down, single file, each with a basket of laundry balanced on their hip, and Rebecca thought the whole thing was hilarious. The way things were split up in the camp was archaic to say the least. The men patrolled, kept watch, hunted (mostly Daryl, in that case), chopped wood for their fires, and, in Ed Peletier's case, sat around smoking cigarettes and watched everyone else work.

The women on the other hand did what Glenn had jokingly called 'womenfolk work'. She'd found out, soon after she arrived, that Glenn and Amy had a little romance going on. It was sweet; they were both so shy, that if one wasn't blushing, the other was. In order to get to the quarry lake, they had to walk right passed Daryl Dixon's tent. Today he was sitting outside, doing something with a length of cord, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. As she grew closer, she could see that he was making what looked like a snare. Rebecca knew nothing about hunting, but even she could see that the snares would be useful in catching small animals, like rabbits. Sweat slicked Rebecca's hands, and her grip on the wash basket slipped. She had to scramble to regain her grip so as not to drop the damn thing. What followed was, in her mind, a rather spectacular save, that involved her tripping over her own feet, trying to correct the basket. She wound up balancing on her toes, knees bent, basket still grasped in her outstretched hands. Rebecca let out a breath, blowing hair out of her face, and situated the damn basket back on her hip, grumbling about uneven roots. When she looked up, she was thankful that her display had only caught the attention of one other person.

Unfortunately, that other person was Daryl Dixon. He was staring at her, cord loose in his hands, and a small smile playing around his lips. Rebecca's face flushed red, and Daryl took a long drag off his cigarette, still watching her. Rebecca put her upturned nose in the air and continued to the quarry lake with as much dignity as she could muster.

* * *

><p>Rebecca was sitting by the quarry lake with the rest of the women, scrubbing, sure enough, one of Daryl Dixon's sleeveless shirts. Her nose curled up a little and she ran it over the scrubbing board with more vigor than it probably needed. Andrea and Carol were having an interesting conversation about vibrators, but she was too agitated, trying to figure out how <em>she <em>got stuck with _his _laundry, and why he couldn't wash it his damn self.

Just then, a cigarette butt when whizzing by her head and landed on the shirt she was scrubbing. The garment was sopping wet, so no real damage was done, but there would still be at least a tiny hole. Rebecca's head snapped up, and she saw Ed Peletier standing behind where they were all sitting, glaring at his wife.

"Think y'all need to quit jabberin' and tend to your work." Anger filled her, and just as she was hauling herself up, Andrea was screaming at him. It all escalated from there. Ed slapped his wife and Rebecca jumped up, getting in Ed's face.

"Get the fuck out of here, you son of a fucking bitch!" she yelled. Ed just sneered down at her.

"Think Imna listen to some uppity Yankee bitch?" Rebecca's eyebrows shot up.

"Uppity? That's wasn't fuckin' uppity." Her fist clenched into a tight little ball, and she slugged Ed across the face. His lip split and blood dribbled down his chin. "_That _was uppity, mother fucker." She should have been prepared for what came next, she really should have, but she wasn't. The back of Ed Peletier's hand connected with the side of her face, knocking her head to the side. His boot connected with her middle and she fell to the ground, all of the wind knocked out of her.

Rebecca saw the same boot speeding toward her face and squeezed her eyes shut, but the impact never came. Rebecca opened her eyes, and saw that Andrea, Jacqui and Amy had tackled Ed to the ground, and Andrea was yelling for Amy to go and get someone. Amy's sneakered feet beat against the dirt trail as she ran back to the main camp. Rebecca slowly began picking herself up from the ground. She'd fallen on her injured arm, and could feel blood leaking through her bandages, and she knew she'd ruptured a few of the crude stitches. She looked down, and sure enough, bright crimson stained the white gauze. Rebecca pressed her hand to it, and walked over to where Andrea sat on Ed's chest, while Jacqui pinned his legs down. Both women were glaring at him as though he was the devil himself, and Ed was glaring at Rebecca as soon as she came into his line of sight.

Just then, Amy came running back up the trail, a reluctant looking Daryl trailing behind her. Rebecca watched as he took in the scene in front of him, Ed pinned on the ground, Carol sobbing on the ground next to him, blood running from the corner of his lip, and Rebecca, her hand pressed to her shoulder, blood dripping between her fingers, covered in dirt and dust.

"The fuck is going on here?" Daryl asked, his brow furrowed.

"The fuck does it look like?" Rebecca said, imitating his accent, and Daryl scowled at her. "Jackass over there was being a pig," she said, gesturing toward Ed with her chin, "slapped his wife around a little, and there was no way in hell I was going to stand by and just fucking watch."

"Looks like that turned out real good for you," Daryl said, looking at the blood slowly dripping down her arm. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Will you just get him the fuck out of here? Please," she added. Daryl flung down his cigarette and put it out with the toe of his boot.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll take care of him." Daryl trudged over to Ed, and Andrea and Jacqui jumped up. He hauled Ed up by the collar of his shirt.

Ed shoved against him. "Get your hands off me," Ed snarled.

"Shut the fuck up, and c'mon. Quit pickin' on the women." Daryl began making his way back to camp, dragging Ed along behind him. Carol hovered for a moment, before finally rejoining the other women.

"Come on," Rebecca said to her, "let's go back and get cleaned up." Dried blood still clung to Carol's chin. Carol nodded, and when Rebecca wrapped her good arm around the older woman's shoulders, she began sobbing.

"I'll come back," Rebecca said to Jacqui, Andrea and Amy. "Help finish the laundry." The assured her that they wouldn't hear of it, then shooed them off, telling them to tend to themselves first. They walked back together, Rebecca's arm still wrapped around Carol, the more injured girl giving support.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Oh snap. Next chapter up on Wednesday.<strong>

**Now, throw me a bone, and click the little review button. Leave me some lovin'.**

**Oh! And don't forget to check out my Boondock Saints fic, Collide. Some quality Murphy humor (Norman Reedus, Irish accent, tattoos, le swoon!) and some bumbling Connor romance!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC.**

**Author's Note: Chapter a day early, but I really kind of love this chapter, so I wanted to get it out. Hoping that you-all like it too. Nicimarie beta'd, lifelesslydnsey pre-read, much love to the both of them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>

**Chapter 4**

When they arrived back at camp, there was no sign of Ed. Daryl was once again sitting outside of his tent, messing with the snares. After sending him a brief nod of thanks, Rebecca led Carol to her tent. It was one she'd had in the back of her Jeep, tan in color, and big enough to sleep four people. She had a cot set up at one end, and make-shift table made of milk crates. Rebecca ripped a few pieces off a towel that was folded and stacked under her cot- the same one they'd used to staunch the blood flow from her shoulder wound- and soaked them with some of her personal drinking water. Handing one to Carol to use, she wiped the blood off her own face, then slipped her injured arm out of the strap of her green tank top. She peeled the gauze away, and saw that the bottom three stitches had been ruptured and the wound was bleeding again, though not as profusely as before. Rebecca heard a throat clear near the entrance of her tent, and looked up to see Daryl poke his head through the flap.

"Everythin' okay in here?" The question was an awkward one, and he didn't look at either of them, choosing to look at his boots instead.

"Yeah," Rebecca told him, looking back at her shoulder. "Do you know if Grimes is close to camp?" Daryl looked up at her again, his gaze zeroing in on her shoulder.

"Don't know," he said, eyes briefly flashing to her face, then back to her shoulder. "I can stitch that back up for you, if you want." She was surprised to say the least. Daryl hadn't made any effort to speak to her since she'd joined their camp. Then again, she hadn't made much of an effort either.

"Uh, sure," she answered, and leaned over to grab the small sewing kit she kept with her laundry under her bed. Carol stood from where she was sitting by Rebecca's make-shift table.

"I'm just going to go check on Ed," she mumbled, head down. Rebecca shook her head as Daryl moved aside so Carol could duck out of the tent. Daryl stepped fully into the tent, taking an awkward seat next to Rebecca on the cot. He took the kit from her hands and began threading a needle. After some more rummaging, she offered a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Daryl sterilized the needle, then moved to sit on one of the over turned milk crates that set around her tent.

"Sorry, for, you know, shootin' you," Daryl said as he removed the ruptured stitches. She hissed out a breath as he cleaned the wound with the rubbing alcohol.

"No worries," she said, eyes squeezed shut. "Shit happens."

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled. "You ready?" She nodded quickly, hands clenching the blanket under her. The stitches hurt like hell, but not quite as much as when Grimes had stitched her up, and she had a feeling that Daryl had done this before.

"There," he said, digging through the first aid kit she'd pulled the alcohol out of, coming up with some antiseptic. He slathered it over the stitches, and then wrapped her shoulder with fresh gauze.

"Thanks," Rebecca told him, watching as he sterilized the needle again, then put everything away, leaving the first aid bag where it was on the bed, setting the sewing kit on the cot beside her. "You're good at that, you know," she told him. "That your first time stitching someone up?" Rebecca asked, thinking she already knew the answer. He shook his head.

"No, not near the first time," he told her, his thick southern drawl turning 'no' into 'naw'. Rebecca found that she liked his accent, it worked on him.

"Your brother?" she asked, and internally groaned. This was one of those times where she knew she should shut it, but her mouth just didn't cooperate. Daryl ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily, and she was sure she was annoying him, but he answered anyway.

"Myself, mostly," he said, not looking at her. He was fiddling with one of the holes in his jeans.

"Yourself?" she asked surprised. He nodded, and she could tell from the look on his still downturned face that he wasn't going to say anymore about it. Then his head snapped up, and he wore a curious expression of his own.

"Why'd you jump between Ed and Carol like that?" Rebecca slipped her arm carefully back in the strap of her top, meeting his gaze head on.

"I guess that it was too... familiar of a situation," she said, her amber eyes meeting his blue ones. "Brought back too many memories." His eyes narrowed but he nodded like he understood. They were still watching each other, and Rebecca felt the tiny threads of a connection begin to form. They were interrupted when Andrea poked her head through the flap.

"Hey, Rebecca, I've got your laundry out..." she trailed off when she saw that Daryl was sitting in Rebecca's tent. "Uh, did I interrupt something?" she asked.

"Um..." Rebecca looked at Daryl then pushed to her feet. "No, Daryl was just stitching me back up. Let's go hang laundry." She moved passed where Daryl was sitting, toward the entrance. Andrea ducked out, and Daryl stood, following Rebecca out of the tent. She sent him a little smile.

"Wanna come help?" she asked. Daryl's mouth lifted in a smirk.

"Hell no, that's woman's work." Rebecca sent him a sneer.

"You know, I somehow always wind up washing your shit," she told him. "What in the hell do you do out in those woods, because Jesus!" Rebecca waved her hand in front of her face, then walked off, leaving Daryl with a flabbergasted expression.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: A tiny bit of bondage time, and it was kind of sweet, don't you think? Leave me a review, let me know. Do it. Please?<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC.**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the small delay, I was out of town for the holiday weekend. ****Merci Beaucoup ****to my beta, nicimarie-sorry if this chapter was a bit of a mess, cher. **

**I've got a deal for you-all, details at the bottom.**

* * *

><p>Act Nice and Gentle<p>

Chapter 5

There was another clank of metal on metal, and Rebecca winced. An arm came around her shoulders, and she looked over to see Glen watching the scene before them with sympathy.

"I know what you're going through. It'll be okay," he said consolingly.

"But... it's my Jeep, Glenn. How could they do it? She's like my right arm. They're tearing my right arm apart right now."

"Bunch of vultures," Glen said, glowering at Dale and Jim who were disconnecting hoses from the Jeep's radiator. "C'mon, it won't do you any good to watch." Glen led her away from the carnage, and she left him to go back to her tent.

The week previous, Rebecca had made the decision to stay with the group permanently. They'd waited a whole week to break the news to her that they were harvesting her Jeep for parts, because they fit Dale's RV, and the RV was their primary vehicle. She'd been sitting with Daryl when they'd told her, outside of his tent, he'd been trying to teach her how to skin a squirrel despite her lack of wanting to know. Rebecca had jumped up, waving her arms -splattering squirrel blood everywhere, protesting loudly.

"Why not tear apart his truck? Or Shane's Jeep? Why mine?" She had gestured to where Daryl was sitting, looking back at him when he grabbed her wrist. She'd forgotten she still had the knife he used for skinning in her hand, and had nearly stabbed him in the eye. "Fuck, sorry," she mumbled, handing it to him handle first, turning back to Dale after he took it.

"Well," Dale took his hat off and scratched the back of his neck, "your parts are compatible with the RV..." Rebecca sighed. Sacrifices had to be made, she supposed.

"Fine. Just- just let me finish cleaning her out first." Walking to her tent, she washed her hands with some of the jugged water she kept there, and went to unload Nora and some other personal belongings she'd brought with her from New York.

Now she couldn't bare to watch them disassemble her.

Rebecca had been with the survivors at the quarry camp for almost two months now. The incident with Ed was ancient history, although she rarely saw him anymore. When she did see him, he would hurry back to his tent, zipping it closed behind him. It made her wonder what Daryl had said to him when he hauled Ed back to camp. She never asked, though. Rebecca and Daryl had been spending increasing amounts of time with each other. It started with the day he stitched her up in his tent- her shoulder wound had healed up nicely, leaving an impressive scar- and after that, he'd started taking her hunting and fishing with him, much to the surprise of the rest of the camp.

Her first hunting trip had been a disaster, and one that Rebecca didn't want to be reminded of. She and Daryl had come back to camp, Rebecca red-faced with embarrassment, Daryl red-faced with laughter. Rebecca had made him promise not to tell anyone, ever what had happened, and although he teased her mercilessly for making him swear like an eight year old girl, he'd kept to his word and, thankfully, never said anything.

Right now, Rebecca just wanted to relax. There was nothing to do in the camp, so Rebecca flopped down onto her cot and pulled a book off the group of upturned milk-crates next to her. Apparently, Harlequin Romance novels weren't something that people deemed necessary when the zombie apocalypse came about, so the shelves at every store she'd gone salvaging in were stocked. Rebecca flipped to her dog-eared page and settled down to read about Javier ripping Jocelyn's bodice with his teeth, and other various bosom heaving things.

Atlanta was sweltering. Sweat beaded on Rebecca's face, dripping down her neck, soaking the thin mattress underneath her. She set her book aside for a moment to pull her hair up off her neck, and as an after thought, she pulled her shirt off, leaving her in just her shorts and green bra. Rebecca mopped her forehead with her discarded shirt, then tossed it aside, picking up her book again.

She'd only been reading for a few minutes when the zipper of her tent was opened, and Daryl ducked in, a stringer of squirrels in his hand. He looked up and froze just as Rebecca squeaked and flopped off her cot onto the hard ground. Daryl stared as she scrambled for her tank-top and pulled it quickly-backwards-over her head, covering herself. Only then did she scowl up at him from where she was still sprawled on the ground.

"Don't you knock?" she asked.

"Uh... on what?" Daryl looked around, as if he expected a door to pop out of nowhere. Rebecca flushed red, then picked herself up, dusting off her shorts. Daryl dropped his squirrels on her make-shift table, right on top of Jonah and Seth, then plopped down on her cot, making himself at home.

"What are you doing?" she asked, watching as he made himself comfortable.

"Visitin', what's it look like?" Shaking her head, Rebecca picked up the string of small animals, and set them outside her tent. She turned back and saw Daryl reaching for the book she'd dropped on the ground.

"No! Don't read..." But it was already too late. He was reading the page she'd had open- a particularly lusty scene between Javier and Jocelyn – and was smirking down at the page, his eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline. Rebecca felt herself blushing again as she sat on the ground on the other side of her table and began picking at a hole in her denim shorts. She heard Daryl clear his throat and looked up to see him set the book down, still smirking. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, against the side of the tent.

"This is what you do with your free time, huh?" he asked, and it took her a moment for Rebecca to process what he was saying. She raised a brow at him, leaning back on her palms.

"Well, I've got to do _something. _Not like there are exactly too many eligible men around here, are there?" She would have laughed at the look on his face if it hadn't been replaced a split second later with another very, _very _different look. Daryl sat forward, fixing her with his stare.

"And just what the fuck am I? A chick or somethin'? I'm not _eligible_?"

Rebecca's mouth opened and closed, as her mind raced for something to say. She was saved from answering, though, by the sound of clanking cans outside of her tent, followed shortly by a child's shrill cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Alright, here's my deal-everyone who reviews this chapter, will get the outtake of Rebecca and Daryl's first hunting trip. Just drop me your email in a DM, and I'll send 'em out in a week or so. And if EVERYONE reviews, I'll post it on my profile. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Speaking of things posted on my profile, there's now a brand spankin' new graphic for this story as well as a playlist. Both links are on my page.<strong>

**Until next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I in no way own the Walking Dead.**

**Author's Note: Huge apologies for the delay. You see, what had happened was this tiny leprechaun came and hit me over the head with his Shillelagh stick, then, while I was down, the little bastard stole my mojo. Thanks to nicimarie for editing all speedy-like.**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>

**Chapter 6**

When Rebecca and Daryl charged out of her tent, they saw that a walker was only a few inches away from grabbing Carol and Ed's daughter Sophia, and Rebecca felt her heart drop into her shoes. Within seconds, Daryl snatched his crossbow up from where he'd leaned it against Rebecca's tent, and sent a bolt through the walkers forehead, just a hair off dead center. Rebecca grabbed Sophia and clutched her tightly against herself while Daryl sent another arrow through the walker's eye socket.

The rest of the camp came running at the noise, and Carol snatched Sophia away, frantically checking her for bites. Rebecca watched Daryl pull his bolt's free, then she looked around, scanning the woods carefully. She saw another walker limping it's way toward camp and she ducked back into her tent, grabbed one of her .38's, Seth, and ducked back out, rounded her tent, took aim, and fired a round, blasting the walker off it's feet. She stomped into the woods, to make sure she penetrated the brain, not noticing how her shot made the other refugees jump.

The thing was still twitching, her shot having ripped through it's cheek, tearing off it's ear. The walker had once been a man, business suit hanging off it in rags. The stench of the walker's rotting flesh made her nose wrinkle; it'd been a while since she'd confronted that stink. Rebecca took aim again and sent a hollow-point through it's head, gray brain matter and crimson red blood splattering against the foliage. Rebecca brushed at a few drops of blood on her cheek, and turned to find Daryl standing behind her, crossbow in hand, ready to step in if needed. He was staring at her, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"That was fuckin' sexy," he finally said, making Rebecca roll her eyes and step around him, heading back to the quarry.

* * *

><p>After washing her face, Rebecca tucked Seth into the back of her shorts just in case, and started the fire. She went for the walker that Daryl'd gotten, picking it up by the arms.<p>

"Help me with her," she said over her shoulder to Daryl, who'd apparently decided to follow her around. He got the walker by the legs, and they carried what had been a woman to the bonfire. After hefting her in, Daryl wiped his hands on his already-dirty jeans, and was eyeing her curiously.

"So you can bring down a walker from fifty feet, but you can't hunt? S'a damn shame." He wiped his mouth with a red rag he'd pulled from his back pocket, and motioned for her to follow him to collect the other walker. She shrugged and followed after him.

"I went to the gun range a lot back in New York. Single woman, living in the city and all."

"You didn't have a boyfriend or nuthin'? That's hard to believe."

Rebecca shrugged again. "Didn't have time."

"Ah, that's right. Career woman, how could I forget?"

She smiled a little. "Kind of wish I'd made time now."

Daryl nodded, and landed a swift kick to the walker's side, then another. Rebecca watched, arms crossed over her middle.

"How does that help in anyway?" she asked when he finished, reaching down to grab the walker's legs.

Daryl shrugged. "It doesn't. Just makes me feel better."

Rebecca made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, shook her hair out of her eyes, then they started lugging the walker back to camp, to the fire.

* * *

><p>The sun was starting to go down, and Rebecca felt filthy. She wanted to wash her hair and do more than take a half-assed hip bath. She gathered up a change of clothes, one of her thread-bare towels and her precious few toiletries, and headed down to the quarry lake. Rebecca set her things down by the spot of shore they sat on while doing laundry, cast a quick look around, and stripped out of her sweat-soaked clothes. She waded into the water, and immediately submerged, sighing when she came up for air. The cool water was heavenly against her hot skin.<p>

Rebecca swam toward the shore and grabbed her shampoo and worked it into her dirty hair. After she felt she was sufficiently clean, Rebecca floated on her back, eyes closed. It was full dark now, and she knew that she should head back to camp soon, but she just couldn't drag herself away from the relaxing water.

Just then there was a loud '_Whoop!' _and a big splash, and Rebecca jolted up right, spluttering water. She looked around, but didn't see anything other than the rippling water. She waited for a few moments, and a dark head popped out of the water a few feet away from her.

"Daryl!"

He sent a smirk her way. "Yeah?"

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"Swimmin'. What's it look like?"

"Well get out of here! I'm naked for God's sake!"

"Really?" he said, laughing. "I hadn't noticed."

Rebecca flushed a deep red, crossed her arms over her breasts, and glared. "Are you going to leave, or not?" she asked after a beat.

"Nah. Water's nice. I could stay out here all night."

She may have growled a little as she gritted her teeth together. "Fine. You just stay on that side of the lake."

"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," Daryl said, already swimming closer.

"Dammit, Daryl, I mean it!"

"Whatever you say." He was only a few inches away, and reaching for her. Rebecca stood her ground, her glare turning acidic right before he dunked her under the water. He immediately let go and splashed away, swimming toward the other side of the lake. Rebecca surged up, spitting water from her mouth.

"Jerk!" she yelled, then took off after him, her mind set on revenge.

* * *

><p><strong>If I get... 15 reviews for this chapter, I will make... something happen. I can do that, make things happen.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Author's Note: You-all are awesome. All of the reviews, alerts and favorites I've gotten for this story have been great. Go look in a mirror, and hug yourselfs, and think real hard about it being from me. Things happen in this chapter, things I think you'll like. Thanks to calltheangels for the quick BJ. And by that, I mean beta-job. Send her good feelings and warm tidings via telepathy.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 7**_

Another week went by and Rebecca knew that their time at the quarry was nearing it's end. Rick and Shane most of all seemed ready to move on- after those two walkers had found them, they all knew that it was just a matter of time until the rest of them began making their way out of the city.

At the moment though, Rebecca was just trying to hold back her vomit. She didn't consider herself a person of weak constitution, but there were only so many things that she could stomach. Her hands were slick with crimson red, the handle of Daryl's knife heavy in her palm. The poor little squirrel that she was skinning and gutting was laying spread eagle in front of her. She'd already skinned it's fur off, tendons and muscle exposed to the air. Daryl had left her to go and do god-knew-what while she gutted the thing, and she was now fingers-deep in squirrel guts.

He, for some reason, wanted her to keep whatever she pulled out, so as she removed the pieces, she shoved them into a burlap sack that sat next to her on the hard-packed dirt.

"Oh my God," she heard Amy say as she approached where Rebecca sat outside Daryl's tent, "what _are _you doing?"

"Uhh..." Rebecca said, looking up at the petite blonde girl, "Skinning a squirrel?"

"Oooh..." Amy sat down next to her, careful to avoid the carnage. "Daryl's sharing his squirrels with you?" She bumped Rebecca with her elbow. "It must be getting serious."

Rebecca's brow furrowed. "What?"

Amy blanched as she looked over at the other girl and saw her almost absentmindedly pull the squirrel's heart out and add it to the sack. "Well... you and Daryl. _Everyone _in the camp is talking about it. Are you guys fucking yet?"

A thin trail of intestine fell out of Rebecca's hand as she stared at Amy. "Everyone is talking about _what? _Of course we aren't fucking! What..."

"Wait, you're trying to tell me that you and Daryl aren't together?"

"Of course not! Why would you think so?"

"You only spend nearly every second with him. He's teaching you how hunt. You guys swim _naked _together."

Rebecca felt her face heat up. "How did you know about that?"

Amy giggled. "Dale was on look out. He saw you, and you know what an old gossip he is."

"Oh god," Rebecca groaned, letting her head drop into her hands. A split second later, she shrieked, her face covered in squirrel blood.

She was staring at her hands, horrified, when Daryl came running back into camp, frantically looking around. When his eyes landed on Rebecca, he stopped in his tracks and dropped the sack he'd been carrying. They stared at each other for a few moments. It started with a chuckle, then Daryl doubled over, laughing until he was red in the face.

Amy backed away from the situation slowly, eyeing Rebecca who was glaring at Daryl with all of her might. There were two rusty-red hand prints on her face, and her dripping hands were clenched into fists.

If Daryl had been paying attention, he would have been leery when the glare slid off her face, and was replaced by a narrow eyed slyness. Rebecca stooped down, rummaging around in the burlap sack on the ground, and came up with something slippery and red clutched in her hand. She flung the dripping red entrails at the laughing man, backing up with a smirk as they connected with a splat.

Daryl let out a yell and went down on his ass, clawing at the matter that clung to his face and neck. Rebecca skipped back a step, satisfied, and took off for the quarry lake to wash up. She edged onto an outcropping of rocks, and sat on the edge, looking down into the water. She had to laugh when she saw her reflection- she looked ridiculous. With a shake of her head, she shifted to her knees, leaning down to scoop up some water, washing her face and hands as best she could. She yelped loudly when she was picked up from behind and tossed into the water. She plunged under, flailing, then surged to the surface, spluttering water.

Daryl stood on the shore, hands on his hips, glaring at her darkly. He was filthy; covered in muck and gore, and she felt a twinge of shame for overreacting. She gave him an apologetic look, then dove back under the water, swimming a few feet away. When she came back up he was nowhere to be seen, and he broke the surface of the water a few feet from her. Daryl was still glaring at her, and she gave him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry about the guts," she muttered.

He shrugged. "It happens."

"What, guts?"

Daryl's mouth twitched. "Sometimes."

She smiled at him, "Okay, Forrest." Rebecca kicked off toward the shore, hefting herself out of the water. She could hear Daryl swimming toward her as she started back toward camp.

* * *

><p>Rebecca sat with Daryl, once again outside his tent, and they were finishing the squirrel's she'd been working on earlier. After they were done with them, they'd hand them off to Carol who would cook them for their dinner that night. Rebecca was hunched over, finishing the last squirrel. Her back was cramped from sitting in the same position for so long, and after she tossed the small, dressed animal into one of the sacks, she swiped the red cloth that was hanging from Daryl's front pocket. She wiped her hands off, removing all traces of blood, shoved it back in his pocket, ignoring his grunt of annoyance.<p>

She stretched, hands going to the small of her back, trying to rub out some of the knots there. Rebecca could feel Daryl's eyes on her as her tank top slid up, revealing a good wedge of freckle-splattered stomach.

"What's the matter?" he asked as she continued to rub her back.

"Nothing. It's just my back, it's all tensed up."

Daryl wiped his own hands on the already dirty cloth, looking her up and down as he shoved it back into his pocket. "I could crack it for you, if you want."

Rebecca raised a brow at him. "How?"

He got to his feet, offering a hand to help her up. She stood, brushing dirt from her shorts and legs. "Just cross your arms over your chest," he told her, and she complied. Rebecca sucked in a breath when he wrapped his arms tightly around her middle. Her face was only centimeters from his chest, and she breathed him in; Daryl smelled like the outdoors, like oak leaves and dirt, sweat and man. It wasn't all that unpleasant. Rebecca could feel the defined muscles in his arms as he tightened them around her, lifting her from the ground. As he applied just the right amount of pressure, she felt her back crack all the way up, and her muscles immediately turned to jelly. Rebecca let out a long, low moan, making Daryl chuckle, and she swayed when he set her back on her feet. He was smirking as he steadied her, and she leaned against him.

"Dear lord," Rebecca breathed, "that's it. It's the final straw."

Daryl looked down at her, confused. "What're you talking about?"

"You have to marry me now," she said. "That's just the end of that. You have to marry me, so that you can do that every goddamn morning. _Jesus." _The look on Daryl's face was one of complete shock, and Rebecca leaned back, waving her hand in front of his face.

"Daryl? You okay? I was just joking..." Rebecca trailed off as he shook his head, and looked down at her. His hands still gripped her arms from where he was holding her up-right, and they tightened, pulling her closer. He dipped his head so quickly, that Rebecca wasn't sure what was happening until his lips were covering hers, and he was kissing her roughly. She whimpered, hands going to his chest, resting against the soft flannel of his shirt. Rebecca's head was spinning, from the feeling, from the emotion, from the lack of oxygen. Daryl's tongue slipped into her mouth, and Rebecca found herself being thoroughly kissed for the first time in longer than she'd care to admit, and she was loving it.

Daryl pulled back, and they both gasped for air. He set her away from him, gathered up the sacks, and turned and walked away. Rebecca touched her kiss-swollen lips and watched him go, not even noticing the rest of the camp, all of whom had stopped whatever they were doing to stare.

* * *

><p><em><strong>See? Don't I always come through for you? Send me some love back, and let me know what you think, yes? Because that's the awesome thing to do, and we've already established that you're all awesome.<strong>_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer: The Walking Dead doesn't belong to me, though I DO own something related to it now. My DVD set of season 1 came in the mail this week. _**

**_Summary: _Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC__**

**__Author's Note: I would apologize for the delay, but I can't remember if there's been one, so I'll just skip it, yes? This chapter feels more like a filler chapter to me than anything, but it must be in here for awesome things that are coming up, if that makes any sense. Hope you enjoy! Muchos Gracias to calltheangels. __**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Act Nice and Gentle<em>**

**_Chapter 8_**

Daryl had been gone for a little over two days. Out tromping around in the woods, hunting, tracking something, most likely. Rebecca knew this, but the fact that he'd left immediately after their kiss had her going nuts. She had no clue what to think, and was kind of pissed at herself for letting a guy get to her this way.

At the moment, she was sitting in the dirt next to Jim, punching holes in washed-out tin cans. Jim, a mechanic before all of this went down, and one of Rebecca's favorite people in the camp, was becoming increasingly paranoid. He insisted that more cans needed to be strung and hung, and was almost always on high alert. He'd told her about some dreams that he'd been having, and she was trying to be supportive but was growing increasingly worried. She punched a hole with her screwdriver, handed the can to Jim, then reached for another, her mind in a completely different place. She only realized she'd reached the bottom of the pile when she reached out for another can and came back with only a fist full of dirt.

Rebecca looked over at Jim, and found him staring at down at his hands. She patted his shoulder, then used it to lever herself up. Brushing debris from her clothes, she headed back to her tent to gather up her dirty clothes- she was running low on clean. She was reaching for the flap of her tent when she heard the rustling of cans followed by loud screaming. Everyone in the camp including her went running, and found Carl and Jaquci running back toward them. As Lori and Rick frantically checked their son for bites and scratches, Rebecca along with everone else continued on and came upon a walker, hungrily tearing into a deer. She could see a few bolts sticking out of the deer's neck, and knew that it must've been what Daryl had been tracking.

He was not going to be happy.

The walker, once a man, caught their living scent, and came around slowly, but was stopped short. Dale took off the things head with the axe he'd been using to chop firewood, and the walker's body slumped forward, what little stagnant blood left in it's body slowly leaking onto the forrest floor. Rebecca stood next to Andrea and Amy, both women watching the scene with disgust. There was another snap in the woods, and everyone was on alert again. Daryl stepped out, and immediately darted back, but everyone lowered their weapons.

As Rebecca suspected, he wasn't pleased to see his kill gnawed on. She watched passively as he stomped the walker, muttering to himself. When good-natured Dale spoke up, Daryl got in his face.

"...why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to _On Golden Pond_?" his nose inches from the old man's.

"Daryl, stop being an ass." He cut sharp eyes toward Rebecca and held them there for a moment, before turning to retrieve his bolts. Just then, the walker's severed head began twitching, and Amy gagged in revulsion, turning away, quickly followed by her sister. Rebecca turned away after hearing some more snide comments from Daryl, and walked the not-so-short distance to a flower-dotted field.

Tall grass grew up, purple, blue and white flowers spotted here and there. She hunkered down in a spot in the middle of the slowly waving grass and looked out over the Atlanta skyline. Rebecca picked a purple flower and twirled it between her fingers, thinking about all of the things that she could be doing at this very moment.

If the world hadn't ended, she would most likely be at home in New York, slumped over her small mahogany desk in the small den of her apartment. There would be a micro-waved meal, cooling next to her, and a half drunk glass of red wine forgotten as she worked on someone elses manuscript. Not a very cheerful thought. But who knew, maybe by that time she would've made some friends, gone out, met someone...

One thing was for sure, in her wildest dreams she never thought she'd be sitting in the middle of a fucking field in Georgia, constantly on alert for fucking _zombies, _slowly but surely losing her mind over a goddamned redneck. Rebecca sighed, absently shredding the flower with her slim fingers. She felt something crawling up her extended legs and looked down to see a troop of ants making their way across her calf. Rebecca brushed them off and tucked her feet underneath her.

"You know, you really shouldn't wander off alone," came a voice behind her, making her jump. Daryl settled down next to her in the grass. "Especially unarmed."

Rebecca just shrugged, and looked over at him. Sweat cut through dirt as it dripped in rivulets down his neck, and his clothes were filthy. It was no wonder, either. He'd been out there for days.

"Daryl?"

"What?"

"What would you be doing right now if all of... this hadn't happened?"

"Well..." he trailed off. "What is today?"

"I think it's Tuesday."

He looked out at the skyline. "I'd just be getting off work, I think."

"I can't believe I've never asked this, but what did you do?"

He gave her a sideways glance. Daryl had never been very forth-coming with the personal information, more often then not choosing to listen to her talk. According to the others, that wasn't a normal Daryl trait- before she came along, they said, he never shut the hell up, always quick with his temper and sharp tongue.

"Construction," he answered. "Roofing, mostly."

"With your brother?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, me and Merle worked together a lot. He wasn't never really reliable, though."

Rebecca had turned toward him, and was watching his profile. "Why's that?"

Daryl shrugged, not answering, and Rebecca knew that that was as far as she was going to get.

"Sorry for, you know, taking off like I did," he surprised her by saying.

"Why did you?"

He didn't answer, and Rebecca's anger came to the forefront. Where it had been directed at herself before, it found a new target. How dare he make her feel this way? And who just kisses someone like that and takes off?

Rebecca got to her feet, shredded bits of flower falling to the ground, and walked out of the field, kicking at the dirt trail.

"C'mon," she said to him, "let's head back." She took off without waiting for him to catch up.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: Filly-filly-filler. But good filler, I am thinking.<em>**

**_There were some bits in this chapter taken directly from the show, and, again, no copyright infringement is intended. _**

**_Now, leave me a review, and I'll work double-quick on getting you the next chapter. _**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer: I don't own TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Author's Note: M'kay, this chapter earns the M rating, kids, so if any of your are under the legal age of consent, hit the road. Now, on a side note, I must share. I went to the Chicago Comic Con this weekend, and I met Norman Reedus. Touched his hand. He called me sweet. And now, I feel kind of like a creep for writing this, but hey, when has that ever stopped me before? Thanks to calltheangels for the edit, and also, Belladonna? You should totally register for an account so I can reply to some of your questions, dollface. 'Lil bit of Daryl pov here. Read on, and enjoy!**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle <strong>_

_**Chapter 9**_

The rain was coming down hard. Torrents, harsh wind that whipped her tent around so much she was afraid that it would pull free of it's moorings and blow away. Rebecca had never been a big fan of storms, a stupid fear that clung to her from childhood. Lightning flashed outside, sending a jolt of fear through her that crackled electric against her skin.

_Screw this, _she thought. _If it's going to be death by lightning, I'm not going out alone. _

Rebecca grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around her head and shoulders, then ducked out of her tent, sprinting the short distance to Daryl's dark green tent. She barged in, sending droplets of rain flying everywhere. Ignoring his shout of protest, she whipped the blanket off just in time to see him shove something under his pillow and sit up quickly, feet swinging over the side of his cot.

"Sorry for just barging in," she said, folding her blanket, "but..." she trailed off, looking at him closely, "were you _crying?"_

"No!" he quickly replied. "I wasn't fuckin' crying."

Rebecca walked further into the tent, closer to him, taking note of his red-rimmed eyes, and noticed that he was sniffling a little.

"Yes, you were!" She was both concerned and amused. What on earth could possibly make _him _cry? Her eyes darted to his pillow. "What were you reading?"

"Uh..." Daryl sat up straighter, "hunting magazine?"

She smirked. "Yeah, okay." Rebecca sat down next to him.

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

"I was bored all by myself," she lied, not wanting to reveal her silly phobia. Rebecca was sitting next to his pillow, and decided that now was the time for a bit of revenge for her reading embarrassment. He didn't notice her sneaking her hand under his pillow. Rebecca's hand curled around a thick book, it's hard cover torn off, the glue from the bindings slick against her fingers. She pulled it out, and Daryl looked over and froze. She stared in shock at the front cover, then, after a few minutes, her mouth began to curl up in a smile.

"I can explain..." Daryl began, as if she'd found tranny porn under his pillow.

"Oh my God," she chocked out, "_Harry Potter?_" Rebecca turned it over to look at the page he'd been reading. "Aww... Daryl," she simpered sweetly. "It's okay. I cried when Dumbledore died too." She reached out and patted his cheek.

"I wasn't fuckin' crying!"

"Yeah, uh-huh," she said, still smiling at him.

"Stop it," he grumbled, snatching for the book. Rebecca held it high over her head, and he reached for it again, knocking them both off balance. The book fell out of her hands, landing with a thud on the dirt floor, and Rebecca realized the position they were in.

She was sprawled on Daryl's cot, and he had fallen on top of her, braced on his knees between her legs. Rebecca's breath seemed to be caught in her chest. Daryl was staring down at her, his eyes, ever sharp, searched her face. There was a moment, a brief second of indecision, before they surged toward each other, lips crashing and teeth clicking.

There was absolutely nothing gentle about the kiss. Hands pulled and clawed, at hair, at clothing, at skin. There was no relief from the Atlanta head as the thin extra layers were shed. Rain battered down against the thick canvas tent, beating out a rhythm above and all around them. It gave the air around them an earthy, heady smell, but the only thing that Rebecca was really noticing at that point was Daryl's mouth and what it was doing to her left breast, more importantly the nipple. He was swirling his tongue around and around, and then he'd use his teeth, and oh_G__od... _There was no stopping Rebecca's groan. Her head fell back against her pillow, fiery hair spread out all around her face and shoulders.

Daryl couldn't stand it. He needed to be with- be inside- this woman_. _If he didn't, he thought that he would explode. He wanted to do more to her than touch her, than fuck her. He wanted _her. _That was something he'd never dealt with before. He didn't know what to do, how to process it, how to proceed. He hadn't known her for more than a few months, for christsakes. What he _did _know is that she was the only one that he could stand to be around, the only one that didn't make him lose his head. Then again, she did make him lose it, just in a completely different way. He didn't know which was worse. This or that. Desire or rage. Though there were heavy doses of both in his actions, as he worked his way down her body, and finally, _finally, _touched what he'd been fantasizing about for months.

She tasted wonderful, not sweet, exactly, but better than he'd expected, given current sanitary conditions. He worked two fingers deep inside of her, and splayed a hand across her soft stomach when her back arched up and off his cot. She was panting heavily, and he watched her tits rise and fall from his very-much-enjoyed view point between her legs. Her ribs pushed and poked against her skin, and he made a mental note to start bringing back more red meat for them to eat. A few well placed -and well practiced- nips had her writhing against his face, moaning out her pleasure, and Daryl couldn't help but smirk. He knew that he was good. He'd had his share of... partners, and had never heard any of them complaining.

This was Rebecca, though, and he knew that she wasn't just another mindless lay. The thought both freaked him out, and settled something that had been warring inside of him. Daryl moved back up, feeling his way up her body, and was pleasantly surprised when she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

As Daryl settled between Rebecca's thighs, she reached out and wrapped her hand him, and it was his turn to groan. Her hand was gripping his shoulder, and Rebecca's fingernails bit into the skin, but neither of them noticed, because he was sliding into her, and dear lord, was it good. Rebecca felt herself being stretched, but not uncomfortably so, any ache was a good ace, a welcome ache, and she clung to Daryl's shoulders as he started to move. He was gripping her thigh, bringing it higher and higher with each thrust.

It'd been ages for Rebecca, because of the simple fact that she hadn't had time in her previous life, before the world had ended. With every move, she let out a keening moan, trying to remember if it had always been this good, or if it was just Daryl that was good. Rebecca met him, thrust for thrust, hanging on to those shoulders that just seemed to be _made _for gripping, his rough cheek deliciously abrasive against the side of her neck.

Neither of them lasted very long, acting out this fantasy that both of them had been having. One of Daryl's hands was buried in her hair, the other still gripping her thigh, and he kissed her roughly as he came, and she clung to him with equal fervor, both slumping limply against the other when they were finished.

To Rebecca's surprise, he didn't immediately withdraw after he caught his breath. Daryl rolled onto his side in the narrow cot and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, his chin resting on her shoulder. She lay there for a few minutes, listening to the rain, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing, wondering if he was going to kick her out.

He shifted next to her, throwing a leg over hers, and grumbled, "Go to fuckin' sleep."

Rebecca kind of wanted to be pissed, but instead she grinned a little, and made herself comfortable.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: So, I've noticed, that not as many people are reviewing for this story, and I'm just curious? Is it dragging? Just not good? Let me know! And let me know what you thought of the chapter!<em>**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**_

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**

_**Author's note: So sorry for the delay- the airport card on my Mac decided to take a shit on me, so I've been without internet. But I'm back, so, yay! I guess. I hope you like this chapter, I'm a little iffy on it, so, let me know what you think! Thanks to calltheangels for the beta jobbing.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 10**_

The sun was just rising over Atlanta, peeking yellow, orange and red over buildings and treetops. The beauty of the sunrise seemed laughable, insulting, compared to the carnage and wreckage below in the city streets. The dead roamed aimlessly; fires burned; corpses- some rotted, some bloated and stinking in the heat.

Further away, in the small camp by the quarry, Rebecca was shaking off the last dregs of sleep, snuggled into Daryl on his narrow cot. She was hot, almost unbearably so, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, neck and even Daryl's chest. They were both still naked, having fallen into a deep sleep after their... activities the night before. Daryl was completely still beside her, chest rising and falling slowly. She lay there, listening to his heartbeat, feeling content for the first time in her entire life. Funny. The peace and happiness that she'd been searching for so long finally showed its face here, _now. _

"Daryl? You awake?"

"Yeah." His voice was still gruff with sleep. Rebecca flexed the hand that lay on his chest, curling her fingers into a fist, nails scratching lightly against his skin. She wanted to talk, ask him about the night before, but she was afraid of coming on too strong, smothering him. But she wanted to know where she stood.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she spoke. "About last night..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not trying to be... clingy, or anything, but I just... what did it mean?"

Daryl was still completely still, relaxed, one leg thrown over her own. "Mean? It meant that you're mine now."

The independent woman in her growled a little. She was sure that he hadn't meant it the way she instinctively interpreted it. "Then you're mine, too," she said firmly. Rebecca felt Daryl's chest shake with silent laughter.

"Well,.. yeah," he said, still laughing at her.

"Oh cut it out," she grumbled, flattening her palm against his bare chest.

They lay there for a little while in silence, listening to the sounds of the camp coming to life around them. Then Rebecca stirred, sitting up a little to gather her long hair off her neck, then laying back down, spreading it on the pillow behind her.

"I've been wondering about something," she said to Daryl.

"What's that?"

"What did you say to Ed that day when you dragged him back to camp? The man hasn't so much as looked at me since."

Daryl's fingers had followed her hair to it's new position, twirling through the fiery strands lazily, suddenly stopped. "I told him that animals weren't the only thing I knew how to skin, and that he'd do well to keep that in mind if he ever thought about laying a hand on you again."

A small shiver went through Rebecca. Partly at the threat, and partly at the thought that whatever... this was between her and Daryl, he'd been feeling it way back then. Much longer than she had. She shook the thought away.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"I've been thinking about something you said that day too. When I asked you why you jumped between Ed and Carol. What did you mean when you said... what you said about it being familiar?"

Her breath faltered. This was one thing she really did not want to talk about. Instead, she sat up in the cot and stretched. Rebecca could feel Daryl's eyes follow her every move as she swung her legs over the side and started picking up her clothes. She pulled on her panties and bra and tank-top then sat back down on the edge of Daryl's cot.

"You're surprisingly eloquent this morning," she said, looking down at her unpolished toes.

"It's the sex," was his reply. "Are you going to answer me?"

Rebecca chewed on her bottom lip. _Might as well get it out of the way, _she thought to herself. All her life she fought against her past, telling herself that it didn't matter, it didn't rule her life, who she was. But she'd never talked to anyone about it, never told anyone anything about her life before she'd run away.

"My, uh, my father-" she began, then faltered and tried again, "my father was not a … nice man." Rebecca ran her fingers through her hair nervously, bringing the ends up closely for inspection, as if such a thing mattered anymore. "He was a drinker. After my Mom died... everything that I never even knew she dealt with was now on me."

"How old were you?"

Rebecca looked at him over her shoulder. He was watching her, propped on one elbow, his face holding a gentleness she didn't even know he possessed.

"I was five," she answered, looking away again. She took a deep breath, hating the way her hands were shaking, the way her insides were twisting. "To make a long story short, I was in and out of the emergency room more times than can be counted until I finally ran away when I was sixteen. I took care of myself after that." Rebecca gave a vague shrug of her shoulders and stood, finding her shorts and pulling them on.

Daryl was quiet and still for a few seconds, then he hefted himself out of the cot, rooted out a pair of boxers and jeans. After he was at least halfway dressed he turned to her, pushing her boots toward her with his foot.

"C'mon. We''re going hunting."

Well _that _was the last thing she'd expected to come out of his mouth. "What?"

"You heard me, c'mon." He was pulling on an old flannel shirt that had the sleeves cut off. She sat down on the cot and started pulling her brown boots on.

"Why are we going hunting?"

He stopped lacing up his own boots and leveled her with a look. "Because I really need to kill something right now."

Daryl went back to his boots, and she just sat there and watched him.

"Oh..." she finally managed to say. Quite frankly the last thing she wanted to do right then was go hunting, especially after the first and last time she'd gone out into the forest with him. But right then, she really didn't want to argue.

* * *

><p>When they tramped back into camp three hours later, Rebecca had a stringer looped over her shoulder, four dead rabbits dangling from it, their furry ears flopping with every step. She and Daryl both felt marginally better; Daryl had managed to take down an enormous buck, and she could actually see his chest swell with manly pride.<p>

This trip had gone much smoother than the last- when Rebecca started annoying the hell out of Daryl with her clomping around, he'd just kissed the breath out of her. They'd wound up having sex against a tree, their coupling once again frenzied and frantic, and Daryl felt a twinge of remorse when he'd seen her back scraped up from the bark. But when he'd seen the goofy smile she'd had plastered on her face for the past few hours, he figured that it was worth it.

They could tell something was wrong the second they stepped foot in camp. Everyone was gathered around a small camp fire, serious expressions on their faces. Rick and Lori were huddled against their son, Shane sitting a little ways away, staring moodily into the flames. Glenn and Amy sat together, Andrea next to them. T-Dog, Jacqui, Dale and Jim sat together, while all of the other families were huddled together, much the way Rick and Lori were. That's when Rebecca noticed that Carol, Ed and Sophia were absent, and she felt dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Everyone wore the same haggard, weary look- people who were on the very edge of giving up, stretched to their very limits.

"What happened?" she asked, handing Daryl her rabbits. He walked away from the rest of the group, and she assumed that he was going to store her rabbits and go back for his buck.

"More walkers wandered into camp." It was Shane who answered her, tossing a stick into the fire as he spoke. "Carol and- and Sophia... their tent was on the very edge of camp, and I guess the walkers just went for it. They're dead. Ed too."

Rebecca felt her eyes filling with tears. She and Daryl had wandered too far away, hadn't heard any commotion, had been too far away to help.

"We're leaving," it was Rick who spoke this time, and now Rebecca understood why the families were gathered together like they were- they were protecting their own. "Today. The plan is to head to the CDC, you and Daryl are more than welcome to come along."

She nodded vaguely, and turned away from the group, the tears finally escaping her eyes and falling down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the dirt she knew was there. Rebecca wandered through the camp, through the rows of tents that formed a semi-circle around the main area where they built their fires and cooked their food. The grass had worn away to dirt a while ago, and they were surrounded on all sides by quarry rocks and thick forrest. She found herself at Carol and Ed's tent but turned away immediately at the sight of blood splashed and splattered all around.

Rebecca made her way back to Daryl's tent and found him stringing up his deer behind it. He'd made two rough posts, and had the buck stretched between them, it's belly already slit open, innards and blood falling to the dirt below. She gagged at the sight, thinking of Carol and Sophia, torn open, bloody, food for the dead. Ed she didn't give a passing thought- the world was no worse off without him.

"You heard about Carol? Sophia?" she asked him. His back was toward her, and she could see that he was working on the rabbits as the deer drained.

"Yeah," was his short answer.

_Oh good, _she thought, _Mr. Strong and Silent is back. _

"Then you know that everyone is leaving today."

"Yep."

"I want to go with them."

Daryl laid his knife down and wiped his hands on the rag he always carried in his pocket.

"And I want you to come too."

He didn't move from where he was sitting. "Why would we go with them?"

"Strength in numbers," she told him. "And I like these people. Most of them."

"Speak for yourself," he said. "We don't need them." He went back to the rabbits.

"Well, I'm going. I hope you change your mind and come along." She turned away, and her gut was churning at the thought of leaving him behind as she walked to her tent to pack her things.

* * *

><p>The heat was minutely slaked by a sweet summer breeze that had picked up from the north, bringing with it, strangely, a scent that reminded Rebecca of honeysuckle. It felt good against her sweat slicked skin, and relieved some of the sting in her back where it had been roughed up by she and Daryl's amorous activities in the woods earlier. She was working on tearing her tent down, all of her clothing and other belongings already packed into two duffles. She'd already wrestled the nylon material off and that just left the skeleton of the thing to be taken apart and packed away. All around her, the entire camp was doing the same things. Everyone but Daryl. She was eyeing his still standing tent for what had to be the hundredth time when a canvas bag was dropped at her feet. Rebecca looked up, and there he was, hands in his pockets, not looking at her, but just over her shoulder.<p>

"Shame all that meat's gonna be wasted," he said. "Want some help with that?"

She pushed her hair out of her face, and eyed him, nodding after a slight hesitation. "Yeah."

Together they got the tent dismantled and stuffed into it's bag.

"Want to come help with mine?"

Rebecca felt a little hope rise in her chest.

"Does that mean you're coming with us?"

He nodded reluctantly. "I guess."

She grinned, and pulled him in for a kiss. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get this thing torn down."

Within an hour, they had the vehicles packed, and were trundling one by one away from the quarry. Dale's RV was in the lead, running better than ever with parts salvaged from her precious Jeep. She and Daryl brought up the rear in his old, battered blue pick-up truck. Their bags and tents were tossed in the bed, along with Daryl's brother''s motorcycle that was covered with a thick tarp.

They were headed toward the CDC where hopefully they'd find some answers, and a little hope.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Review!<strong>_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**_

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**

**Author's Note: We hit 100 reviews with the last chapter! If I could, I'd roll around with all of you guys in a big pile of puppies and kittens. Thanks so much for the feedback, and keep it coming. Thanks to my lovely beta, calltheangels.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 11**_

The truck windows were cranked all the way down, the smoke and decay scented air swirling through the cab; it was better than the stifling heat though, and Rebecca caught herself longing for her Jeep more than once. Daryl had one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other arm stretched across the back of the bench seat. The radio was on, Credence coming out scratchy through the speakers; it was _Suzy Q_, Rebecca's favorite CCR song. They'd been driving non-stop for nearly two days, and her stomach was cramped with hunger pangs that she did her best to hide from Daryl. The vehicles were running strong thankfully, and if all went according to plan, they'd be at the CDC by sun-fall the next day.

Rebecca tucked her feet underneath her, rested her chin in her hand, and looked out the window. The road was fairly deserted, only a few abandoned vehicles blocked their way, and so far they hadn't seen any dead. Greenery flashed by, the loud roar of the trucks engine bouncing off trees. They hit a deep pothole, and Rebecca bounced up in the seat, landing down with an unwanted reminder of her full bladder.

"Can we stop soon?"

Daryl withdrew his arm from the seat, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. "Why?" he asked, pulling one out, placing it between his lips.

"I have to pee," Rebecca told him bluntly, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Jesus, woman. Your bladder the size of a grape, or what?" With a flick, he lit his cigarette, the tip glowing cherry red.

"Quit your grumbling. It's been more than six hours since we stopped last."

A weary sigh from the driver's seat. "Fine. We'll stop off at the next place."

"Thank you." Rebecca dug a hair tie out of her pocket and pulled her long hair up into a sloppy bun to get it out of her face. She was thinking about chopping it off for convince sakes, but hadn't decided yet. She'd worn her hair long her entire life.

A while later, Daryl was pulling into an abandoned convince store, honking repeatedly to let the others know they'd catch up. Rebecca grabbed one of her .38's off the seat next to her and jumped down from the truck. She started toward the dark building without waiting for Daryl, ignoring his sound of protest. Rebecca flicked the safety off her handgun and pulled the glass door open, peeking into the stifling building. The stink of rotted food and flesh was thick, and she located the corpses first thing, to make sure that they were _dead _dead. There were three, a man decomposing behind the counter, the other two liquefying in front of the Icee machine. Rebecca moved to the back of the store, pulling the heavy bathroom door open. She pulled the small flashlight that she always carried in her pocket (on Daryl's insistence) and pointed the beam inside, ensuring there were no surprises inside.

The bathroom smelled heavily of mildew and mold, but was otherwise still clean. Rebecca took care of her business, then took a generous amount of hand sanitizer from the dispenser next to the soap. She stood back and eyed the dispenser, then used the butt of her gun to knock it out of it's moorings, and tucked it under her arm. It would come in handy later.

She found Daryl poking around the store, beloved crossbow over his shoulder. As she approached, she saw him shove a small box into his pocket, then straighten up quickly when he saw her. Rebecca looked at what he was standing in front of, and chocked back a laugh. A surprisingly wide selection of condoms was on display, and she reached out and picked up one of the little boxes.

"Banana flavored? I've never understood that. I mean, when are you going to taste the condom? It's not like a guy normally wears a condom while a girl's sucking him off. Well, some should, but it's just not normally done." She put the box back, and looked over to see Daryl blushing furiously. "Please tell me you didn't grab the banana condoms."

"No," he grumbled, "I didn't."

"Well, which ones did you get?" Rebecca reached for his pocket, but he moved out of the way before she could dig the box out. She rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms, juggling the hand sanitizer dispenser. "Just tell me which ones. Ribbed for her pleasure?"

His face flamed redder, and she liked seeing him all flustered. She reached for his pocket again, and this time he let her. Rebecca wrapped her fingers around the little box and pulled it out. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead as she read the bright red box.

"They... heat up? I'm sorry, you want to stick Icy Hot up my vagina?"

"What?" Daryl snatched the box back from her and scanned it. "Oh. Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." He tossed the box aside, and picked up another, this time just plain Trojans.

"Check the expiration date," Rebecca told him before they moved on.

Daryl read the bottom of the box, then slid it into his pocket. "We're good," he said, moving ahead of her to the door. They climbed back into the blue truck and set off again, trundling down the deserted highway, hand sanitizer in the seat between them.

* * *

><p>Thanks to Daryl's breakneck speeds and reckless driving, they caught up the others quickly. Rebecca was curled in the seat, head resting against Daryl's shoulder, dozing off and on. They'd been driving for a few hours since her bathroom break, and her legs were falling asleep.<p>

Suddenly, Daryl jerked upright, startling Rebecca. He swerved onto the side of the road and threw the truck into park.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked as he jumped out of the truck. She watched him as he approached an overturned cube truck that was partially hidden in the deep ditch. Rebecca lost sight of him as he walked around the cab, peering in the windows.

"Fuck!" she heard him yell. "Rebecca, come and help me!"

Rebecca was out of the truck in a second, running over to where he was prying at the passenger side door. The windshield was cracked, splintered and splashed with blood. The window of the door he was pulling at was busted out, and she could just see into the cab around his heaving form. A body was crumpled against the driver's side door, wedged behind the steering wheel. It was feebly stirring, barely breathing, but she could see the faint rise and fall of the chest.

"Daryl, what's going on?" she asked- this wasn't like him. Daryl wasn't the type to stop and help random strangers.

Daryl was breathing heavily as he finally got the door open. "That's my brother," he told her between ragged breaths.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Oh... Didn't see that coming, did you? I know calltheangels didn't. Haha. Until next time!<strong>_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to The Walking Dead.**_

**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**

**Author's Note: So, this chapter is pretty much major heart-fail, just a warning. Thanks for all the reviews/alerts/ect. Makes my day that you-all actually like my stuff- -HAPPY FACE- Many, many thanks to calltheangels for beta'ing and pointing out what would have been a screw-up of EPIC proportions. Only she and I will ever, ever know. O_o. See you on the other side kids.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Act Nice and Gentle<em>**

**_Chapter 12_**

Daryl was half wedged into the cab of the over turned truck, slowly but surely pulling Merle out. Rebecca hovered around behind him, unsure of how to help. She wanted to do something, but she didn't want to get in Daryl's way, either. He was breathing heavy, face red, spit flying from between his lips and Merle's head was emerging from the truck, bloody and mangled. Rebecca rushed forward and grabbed one of Merle's arms and together they pulled him out, easing his limp body to the ground as gently as they could. The lower half of his body was twisted at an odd angle and completely still, making Rebecca think severed spine. Numerous contusions and bruises littered his body, and the severed stump at the end of his right arm was clearly oozing with infection. Merle Dixon may have been alive and breathing at that very moment, but it was certain that he didn't have very much time left.

Daryl was on his knees beside his brother, hands resting limply in his lap. His eyes were fixed on a certain spot on Merle's whole arm where the flesh had been torn away, bone peeking through layers of tissue and gore.

"He's probably been sticking close to the city, got bit in the last day or so," Daryl said quietly and Rebecca just nodded. They stood there, the only sounds the ragged rise and fall of Merle's chest and Daryl's own labored breathing. Something moved in the trees behind them and Rebecca cast a wary look over her shoulder. She stood there, looking down at her... lover, man-_ whatever_ he was as he watched his brother die. The only family he had left.

Rebecca walked around to him and lowered herself to the over-grown grass next to him. She reached out, intending to put her arm around him, but his voice cut through the silence.

"Rebecca, give me your gun then go back to the truck."

"What're you-"

"Give me your gun."

"Daryl-"

He cut across her again. "Please, just this once, listen to me." Daryl's voice was gravely, thick with emotion that he wouldn't show. Not yet. Rebecca pulled her .38 out of the back of her shorts and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her and she leaned in, kissing him gently on the forehead before walking back to the truck, heart pounding in her chest.

She knew what he was going to do, as soon as she'd seen the bite on Merle's arm, she'd known. Because that's what he'd want someone to do for him, if he was ever infected. Rebecca pulled open the door, rusted hinges squealing and climbed inside, wondering why the rest of their group hadn't noticed them missing and turned back. Did Daryl really rank that low in their importance? Of course, it wasn't like he'd done a whole lot to improve their image of him. The one she was really surprised at was Rick- he wasn't the type to just leave them. Then again, he had his own family to worry about.

Rebecca slumped down in the seat, toeing her tall boots off and tucking her socked feet underneath her. She looked out the window, in the direction of Daryl and his brother, wondering what he was feeling. She was close enough that she could hear the click when Daryl pulled back the gun's hammer. A small pause, then the loud retort rang out, bouncing and echoing off the trees. Though she'd been expecting it, the sound still made Rebecca jump, and her heart jumped up into her throat as she waited for Daryl to come back.

She let out an audible sigh of relief when he rounded the over turned box truck. His head was down, blood smeared across his face and arms, gun held loosely in his hand. Daryl climbed into the truck without a word, only looking sideways at Rebecca when she offered him the container of GermX.

"The... blood. It's on your face." She didn't want to say infected blood, because this was his brother she was talking about. He ignored the sanitizer and just pulled a rag from his pocket, wiping the blood off himself before tossing the cloth out the window. Rebecca slowly set the dispenser back on the seat, and Daryl started the truck. It came to life with a loud grumble and there was only a split second of hesitation before he pulled back onto the road, quickly pushing the truck to its limits.

* * *

><p>By the time they caught up with the group again they were almost into the city.<p>

The stink was almost unbearable. Dead lay everywhere in various stages of decomposition, there were crows picking at a few of the corpses and Rebecca could see several buzzards circling. They eased their procession around the abandoned, mangled vehicles and Rebecca had to hang onto the door handle as the truck bounced down the street. It was impossible to drive around a majority of the rotting bodies and she felt bile rise in her throat at the sound of the crunching and snapping bones and the squelch of liquifying flesh giving way under their tires.

Daryl had hardly said anything since they'd found Merle, and she hadn't dared to try and break the silence. She would talk to him later, after they were safely inside the high security CDC building. She hoped and prayed that they would find _something _there- food and shelter, and answers. Rebecca would give him a little time, he'd just shot his only brother for christsakess, and Daryl wasn't a chatty one under the best circumstances.

Minutes later they were stopping in front of the CDC. As they got out of their vehicles, gathering bags and supplies, Rebecca looked around in dismay at the carnage. She should have expected it, but occasionally something would catch her off guard, like the bodies of the dead soldiers that lay scattered about on the once-neat landscaping of the government building. Most of them had died from clearly self-inflicted gun shot wounds, and Rebecca could only hope that things inside weren't as bleak.

* * *

><p><strong>Sad panda Daryl. D'awww. Although, sadpanda Daryl is more like pitbull-backed-into-a-corner Daryl. Should we warn Rebecca? Naaahhh. <strong>

**Leave a review, and puppies everywhere will love you. If you're allergic, kittens then. If you're allergic to those too, I'll throw a few goldfish your way, and well call it even. **

**Much love! **


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Chapter: 13/17-18**_

_**Author's Note: Guys! So sorry for the small delay- I had this chapter nearly complete, then I lost half of it, and was all sadpanda about it for a while, but then I rallied the forces in my brain and got her finished. This is unbeta'd, because I'm a bitch and didn't send it to my beta, who would have made it all bright and shiny and pretty, but I wanted to post, post, post! Hopefully she's not too mad at me. Seriously, this fic would be nothing without her, and I promise to send the next one out to calltheangels for some polishin'. Go read her Boondock Saints fics. For real. Go do it now. Well, after you finish reading and review this, but right after THAT, click over there. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 13 **_

After months of greasy squirrel and fish from the quarry lake, the spaghetti Rebecca was currently shoveling into her mouth was like a meal in one of New York's finest restaurants. It didn't matter that the noodles weren't cooked all the way through and the sauce was bland as cardboard, her stomach wasn't growling for the first time she could remember, and her third glass of wine was swirling in her stomach making her fingers tingle.

It had been close, very close. They'd come across the front lawn of the CDC, the landscaping over grown and in obvious disrepair, to find the building shuttered closed. As Rick screamed and yelled and begged for the people he was convinced were inside to let us in, Rebecca had nearly given up. Right there, in those few minutes, her legs had given out from underneath her, and she hit the ground, hopeless tears filling her eyes. Defeat was not something she'd ever given into before. Rebecca had been a fighter all her life, but as Rick screamed, Shane tried to think, the others weeped right along with her, and Daryl stood there silent, as if he didn't care one way or the other. That, on top of everything else, filled her with a sense of dread she hadn't experienced before. Daryl had fought through this apocalypse with fervor, doing anything and everything he had to to survive. And if he'd given up, then what was there left to fight for?

The geeks, drawn by their noise, had descended on them, and they used up what little ammunition they had trying to keep them at bay. Rebecca'd felt rotting hands grab at her, and that woke Daryl up. He'd dispatched the walker with ferocity, and then the doors had slid open, and Daryl grabbed Rebecca's shirt and hauled her inside, the building shutting up behind them after everyone had dived in.

Rebecca looked at Daryl now, standing away from the group, leaning against a far wall. He hadn't eaten, and she wasn't going to try to strong-arm him into it. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was scowling down at the ground, as if it had personally offended him. Rebecca set her fork down and pushed her plate away, leaning back in her chair. The other's around her were laughing and having a good time; Rickand Lori were smiling and making googly eyes at each other, Glen and Amy were leaning heavily against each other, giggling. Dale was telling another one of his stories. Rebecca was still shaken about what had happened outside. She'd been ready to give up. Ready to die. She couldn't laugh like nothing had happened after that.

After the food was gone, and they'd drained their glasses, Dr. Jenner, the man who'd saved them, lead them from the stainless steel kitchen they'd been eating in, down a flight of stairs and to a long hallway with several offices leading off of it.

Jenner was the only one that was left. He'd explained how his colleagues had either abandoned their work to be with their families, or had opted out through a barrel in the mouth. Jenner had stayed, continuing his research, looking for an answer.

They stopped in front of a door, and Jenner motioned to it. "Rebecca, you can take this one."

She flashed him a brief smile. "Thanks." Reaching for the handle, she hesitated, casting a look at Daryl. He was at the back of the group, bag slung across his back, an unopened bottle of Southern Comfort dangling loosely from his fingers. He met her gaze, and moved through the group, taking her elbow in hand and pushing open the door. Daryl led the way inside, and kicked the door closed behind them.

The room was spartan and clinical, which wasn't surprising. The carpet was industrial gray, the walls were thin. There was a metal desk in the middle of the room, and a futon type couch pushed up against one wall, a low table in front of it. One door revealed a coat closet, while the other lead to a small, closet type bathroom with a shower stall, small sink and toilet shoved in with little room to move around. Rebecca dropped her pack onto the couch and went to investigate the bathroom. She pulled open the shower door and turned the knob for the hot water, fully expecting an ice cold stream.

Rebecca actually squealed with delight when her palm was nearly scalded with hot water, but she couldn't bring herself to be embarrassed over her reaction.

"What's goin' on in there?" Daryl asked from the other room. Rebecca rushed out, shaking her hand in his face, splashing droplets of water all over him.

"Hot water, Daryl! Hot. Fucking. Water!"

He just looked up at her from where he was sitting on the couch, bottle of alcohol clutched by the neck in one hand. "Great. Good for you." Daryl took a pull from his now open bottle, not bothering to wipe the water from his face.

Rebecca frowned down at him, crossing her arms across her chest. She moved around the short table and sat on its surface in front of him.

"Are you alright?"

Daryl leaned his head back on the couch, closing his eyes. "I'm fine, Rebecca. The world is my oyster."

She reached out and touched his knee, trying to get him to look at her, but he jerked his leg away, lifting the bottle to his lips without opening his eyes.

"Do you want to talk?"

"What about?"

"You know what about."

His eyes opened a fraction for just a second. "No, I think I'm good." Another pull. Rebecca sighed and rubbed her palms against the tops of her thighs and stood up, heading toward the bathroom.

"I'm taking a shower."

"Hooray," he said, tone laced with sarcasm.

Rebecca visibly winced, then went into the bathroom, slamming the door.

* * *

><p>After standing under the spray of hot water for entirely too long, Rebecca emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, intending to grab one of Daryl's t-shirts out of his pack. She was completely out of clean clothes, but she knew that he had a stack of clean shirts, because she'd been the one who'd washed them. When she stepped out of the steamy room, she barely had time to notice that the futon had been folded out, their bags thrown to the floor before someone grabbed her from behind. She knew immediately who it was- his body had become intimately familiar to her. Daryl pressed against her from behind, then he was turning her around, reaching for the knot in her towel. His breath was an alcohol scented cloud as he let the towel drop to the floor, then reached up and pulled away the second that had been wrapped around her head. Her fiery hair fell in damp clumps around her face and shoulders, and Daryl cupped the back of her skull, threading his fingers through the wet strands, pulling her against him for a heated kiss.<p>

Rebecca was struggling on the inside. He tasted of Southern Comfort, the sickly sweet liquor familiar to her, and she fought with her own mind, which wanted to flash back to the sixteen year old girl she'd been, when her father had come a little too close for comfort.

_This is not Gary Sumpter, _she told herself firmly as Daryl's hands found her breasts, fingertips teasing. _This is Daryl Dixon, a man you trust implicitly. _

She still wasn't sure that this was the best of ideas, though. Daryl was drunk, and very fucked up over what had happened with his brother (who wouldn't be?). Rebecca found herself craving the pleasure that she knew he could give her, though, a small, brief escape from what was above them, on the surface. And if this was what he wanted, what he needed...

Daryl was backing her up, and when the backs of her legs hit the cold metal frame of the futon, she went down on the thin mattress, scooting to the middle of the bed, watching him kick his boots off and shuck his clothes. He crawled toward her, until he was on his knees between her spread legs, and she reached out to him, but he caught her by the wrists and held her hands away from himself. He very nearly glowered down at her, kneeling there, and Rebecca swallowed thickly, waiting.

Daryl lifted her hand, pressing the side of his face into her palm. It was brief and Rebecca barely had time to register the feel of his scruffy cheek against her skin before he let her wrists go, and with both hands, gripped her left hip and thigh, and flipped her over onto her stomach. She made a sound of surprise, but then he was pulling her hips back, pulling her up onto her knees. One of his roughly calloused hands slid down her back, along the spine, settling between her shoulder blades, holding her there. With the other hand gripping her ass, he slid inside of her in one quick motion, making her shudder with pleasure.

He was still for a few moments, then his thrusts were long and slow, pushing in and pulling out languidly, and Rebecca figured that she was right; this was a damn good distraction from the hellish outside world. Her palms were flat on either side of her head against the slightly scratchy mattress, her cheek pressed against the material. Daryl picked up his pace, now literally slamming against her, and Rebecca's breasts bounced with every thrust of his hips. His warm hand slid farther up her back, Daryl bending to run it over her shoulder and around, slipping his hand between Rebecca's chest and the mattress. He pulled her up in one swift motion, her back against his chest, his thrusts never slowing, and he held her tightly against him, his arm looped across her chest.

Rebecca began to feel uncomfortable as his blunt nails bit into the flesh of her hips, and the soft kisses he'd been littering her shoulder with suddenly had a little sting to them as he nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. Daryl's thrusts were awkward at this angle, and the tingles of pleasure were leaving her body. She felt the first stirrings of angry indignation in her gut, and not a second later Daryl was groaning his climax into her shoulder. Rebecca fell forward on her hands and knees as he released her, pulling out of her body, and she rolled onto her back and stared up at him as he stood up from the bed.

Daryl stared back at her for a second, something unreadable in his expression, then he moved away, snatching his bottle off the table that had been shoved to the side. He walked across the room, bare feet not making a sound on the carpet, and he pulled open the closet door, reaching up to grab the neatly folded blanket Rebecca had seen there earlier. Moving back to the bed, he shook it loose, unfolding it, then threw it over her, covering her from feet to shoulders then sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the bottle in his hands.

"You want to tell me what the _fuck _that just was?"

His words were slurred when he answered. "Just go to sleep, Rebecca." Another drink. "I can tell you're exhausted." His accent was thicker, and he still wasn't looking at her, and she wanted to haul herself out of that bed and punch him in his fucking face at that moment.

Her body, though, had different ideas. Betraying her, listening to what he'd said, she found her eyelids drooping closed as if weighted, and she fell asleep with a frown marring her face.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: *winces* Well, I couldn't very well leave them happy forever, could I?<em>**

**_Now, leave me a review, let me know what you're thinking. Daryl's being a drunk dick and Rebecca's pissed. I'm putting on my therapist glasses, so have a lie-down on my couch 'o review and tell me how that makes you feeeel. _**


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Chapter: 14/17**_

_**Author's Note: Thanks so much for all of the love that this story is getting. It seems I made a few people hate Daryl in the last chapter, which was not my intent. Recs! I have a recommendation this time, folks. Just today, I read a three chapter ficlette by a chick named The Reader's Muse called "Show Me Your Teeth". It's Daryl (naturally) and quite figuratively rocked my freaking face off. It's definately worth some readin' and reviewin' love. **_

_**As always, thanks ever so to my beta, calltheangels. You're fabby, dahling, simply fabby.**_

_**This story is actually nearing its end, with only three chapters left after this one, something that I just can't get over. -sobs-**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 14 **_

Rebecca woke feeling completely disoriented. She wasn't dripping buckets of sweat, there was no suffocating humidity. No insects biting and crawling on her skin. She felt cool and clean and it took her a few moments to remember where she was. As she became more aware, shaking off the last dredges of sleep, she remembered the night before. Her thighs ached and when she shifted, Rebecca could feel the bruises that had been left on her right hip and along the slope of her shoulder. Her anger came flooding back, and she jerked up, swiveling to look at the person laying next to her. Daryl was awake and staring at her, that same emotion that she'd seen right before she'd fallen asleep on his face.

Words wouldn't come. She wanted to scream at him until she was red in the face. But as she stared at him, the anger melted away and she felt more hurt than anything that he would use her in that way to work past his demons. That he would use her body as if she were some disposable whore that he'd never have to see again. Rebecca had thought that what they'd had was more than sex, was sure that she'd felt more than that from him, but maybe she'd been wrong. She turned away from him, toward the edge of the bed and attempted to steel herself, swallowing around the stubborn lump in her throat.

One thing was for damned sure, she wouldn't let him see her cry. Not right then. She hated feeling vulnerable, and hadn't actually felt this way since a young and tender age, when she hadn't been strong enough to stand up against her father, and had waited on edge every second that she was at home to do something wrong and stir up his anger. Granted, that wasn't what she was feeling now, sitting with her back turned to Daryl. She was sure that he'd never hit her, raise his hand to her in anger, but a sliver of that hated weakness was there.

Rebecca ran a shaky hand through her long, thick hair and pulled the blanket away from the bed, away from him, and wrapped it around herself. She stood and walked to where their packs lay on the floor, and snatched hers up and carted it into the bathroom where she shut and locked the door. She let her pack drop to the floor with a thump and sat down on the closed toilet lid, wiping angrily at a few tears that had managed to creep down her face without her permission.

The fluorescent lighting cast her face in ghastly starkness when she stood in front of the sink, letting the blanket drop and pool at her feet. There were dark circles under her eyes from lack of restful sleep. Across her shoulder and up the juncture of where it met her neck were small, circular bruises, barely discolored, that looked like love bites more than anything else. Rebecca washed her face with cold water, drying it with a corner of the remaining towel, then turned toward her pack. As she bent to pick it up, she caught a glimpse of the bruises marring her hip. Finger shaped and puffy, she traced her own fingertips over them.

"That son of a bitch," she mumbled to herself.

Rebecca grabbed her pack and set it on the edge of the sink angrily, jerking it open, rummaging through it for something even passably clean. The swinging from anger to sadness back to anger again surprised her, and she chalked it up to that pesky emotion that, before last night, had been swelling in her chest whenever she looked at Daryl. Blame it all on love...

_Oh __that __bastard, _she thought angrily. _Now __he's __gone __and __made __me __love __him. __That __on __top __of __all __of __this __bullshit._

The realization fueled her anger more than anything else. As she pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt left over from her college days in short, jerky motions, Rebecca tried to figure out what it was she wanted to do.

One part of her wanted to march into that other room, punch him in the neck and walk out without a backward glance. Another part of her blanched at the thought of being without him.

_Goddamn it. _

One thing she _was _sure of was that nothing like last night was ever going to happen again. She wouldn't have it, and she wouldn't put up with it.

Rebecca pulled her fingers through her hair again, leaving it loose around her shoulders, and used a spare wash cloth to half-assed brush her teeth. She shoved her things back into her pack and left it where it was, leaning half into the sink, and moved toward the door. Hesitating in front of the thin wood barrier with her hand on the knob, she braced herself, then pulled the door open.

Daryl was sitting on the edge of the bed, much like he'd been the night before. He'd put on a pair of boxers, and his arms were braced on his knees as he stared at the floor, his head jerking up when the bathroom door opened. Daryl looked up at Rebecca, illuminated by the bathroom light, her hair flaming around her face. Though the small office room was still dark, he could see the discolorations on the slope of her shoulder, and shame washed through him. He didn't know what to say, what he could say, to make this better.

He'd treated her no better than the women he used to pick up at the seedy rough and tumble bar that he and Merle used to frequent, using her and casting her aside as if she meant nothing to him, and that was far from the truth. He'd never loved anything in his entire life like he loved Rebecca, not Merle, and certainly not his old man. She was standing there, looking at him as though he were the devil. He felt his heart practically shred at the look of hurt and anger she'd fixed him with.

"Rebecca, I-" he looked away, down at the floor, then back up, meeting her eyes, the color of aged whiskey. "I'm sorry." What a pathetic thing to say.

The look on his face nearly melted her. Rebecca wanted to go to him, she wanted to hold him against her and tell him that she forgave him.

She resisted the urge, and kicked him in the shin.

"Jesus!" Daryl clutched at his throbbing leg, and looked up at the fuming red head. Her small hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, as if she were resisting the impulse to cause him further harm.

"If you ever treat me like that again, like you did last night, that's it. I will walk away from this," she motioned to the space between them, "without a second thought. I don't know how you treated women before, but you can bet your ass I'm not one of _them.__"_

"I know," Daryl said, letting go of his leg to reach up to her. His hands rested on either side of her waist, and he drew her closer. "I know you're not." He rested the side of his face against her soft stomach, his scruff scratching through her shirt to her belly button. Daryl finally relaxed a little when she ran her fingers through his short hair, and he felt and heard her sigh before she pulled away and crawled back onto the bed, claiming one of the throw pillows.

"I left the blanket in the bathroom. Will you go and get it?"

Daryl hefted himself off the bed, and crossed into the bathroom, snatching it off the floor. He spread it over Rebecca, then climbed in behind her, wrapping himself around her soft body. They were quiet, laying there in silence, in the dark.

"I didn't tell you everything," Rebecca finally said. "About my father."

Daryl found her hand and twined his fingers with hers, giving them a slight squeeze.

"When I ran away, I was sixteen. He... came to my bedroom one night. He'd been drinking, but that wasn't anything new. I thought that I'd messed up again. Forgotten to wash the dishes, or something and he'd come to... well, he had certain ways of reminding me. Jesus, I've never told anyone about this." Rebecca stopped, squeezing his warm hand tighter, wanting to make him understand why last night had affected her so much. "That night, he... had something else in mind." She couldn't say it. Damn it, she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

"Did he rape you?" Daryl's voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of rage. Rebecca shook her head.

"He tried. I screamed my head off and the neighbors called the cops."

"He still alive?"

The question was unexpected. Rebecca shook her head slowly.

"Zombies?"

"Liver failure. Years ago. Consequence of a steady diet of Southern Comfort and Jim Beam for thirty plus years."

He was quiet for a few moments. "Last night, did you think..."

"No!" she sat up quickly and turned to face him. "Of course not. I know you'd never do something like that."

Daryl just nodded and Rebecca lay back down, snuggled into his bare chest.

"So you were on your own after that, huh?"

"Yeah. I got a job, finished school and made my way through college."

Daryl made a noise deep in his throat.

"What?" Rebecca asked.

"It's just weird. We both had these shitty childhoods, and look at you. You went on and actually did something. I never amounted to shit."

His words raked across Rebecca's heart. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Shut up. It is not." Rebecca propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him laying under her. "Tell me about growing up with Merle."

"Not much to tell."

"Well, tell me anyway."

"I was by myself more often than not. Our Mom took off not long after I was born, and our old man wasn't worth a shit. Merle couldn't seem to stay out of trouble from one day to the next." He shrugged vaguely, looking off to the left.

"Tell me more. I want to hear a story about little Daryl." Rebecca lightly ran her fingers down his chest.

"A story?"

"Yeah." She trailed the line of hair that ran up from the waist of his boxers, up curling around his belly button like a question mark.

"There was one time, I was about nine, I guess, and I got lost in the woods around our house."

"That sounds horrible." Rebecca planted a kiss below his left nipple and smirked at the way his stomach muscles clenched.

"It wasn't so bad. I was out there for a good ten days, I bet, surviving off whatever I could find."

This made her sit up a little straighter and abandon her teasing. "Ten days? Did they find you?"

"Are you kiddin'? The old man was out on a bender somewhere, and Merle was in juvie. They didn't even know I was gone. I found my own way back."

"That's the end of the story? That's terrible." Lost ten days and no one to notice he was gone.

He just shrugged. "Why do you think I'm so good at tracking? Spent more time in the woods growing up than anywhere else."

"And you said you never amounted to anything. These people would've been screwed without you."

"Yeah, right."

"Seriously." She scooted until they were face to face. "How do you think they would've gotten food? They couldn't have survived without you and those damned greasy squirrels."

"If you say so."

"I do."

He gave her a light peck on the lips, then maneuvered his way out of the bed.

"Imna go take a shower, then we'll go down to breakfast. You need some more meat on your bones."

He deftly dodged the pillow she threw his way and it hit the bathroom door with a soft thump.

Rebecca lay back against the remaining pillow, and she heart the water start up in the other room. She listened to him move around, then hauled herself out of bed. Rebecca set to folding the futon back up, tossing the small pillows back into position, and folded the blanket, thinking about the whole love thing. She would have to tell him soon, but she was wholly uncomfortable with telling him. Rebecca couldn't remember the last time she'd loved anything. Her mother, way back when she was a little girl, almost too young to remember.

As she was moving across the room to put the blanket back in the closet, she heard something from the bathroom that made her stop in her tracks. Folding the fleece cloth over one arm, she moved a little closer to the closed door, and had to smother a laugh.

Daryl, apparently, was a shower singer. And not a very good one, at that.

"_'Cause __I'm __as __freee __as __a __biiird __now, __and __this __biiird __you __will __not __chaaaange...__" _

"Oh my god." Rebecca pushed her face into the blanket, unable to hold back the giggles anymore. She rushed away from the door when she heard the water switch off and she let out a loud involuntary snort. Rebecca was putting the blanket up when the bathroom door swung open and Daryl walked out with a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Have a nice shower, there, Ronnie?" Rebecca asked before turning around.

Daryl froze on his way to his pack, his face immediately flushing red. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh nothing," Rebecca said around her sudden case of dry mouth as she stood there looking at him drip water onto the carpet, covered only by the towel, his hair dark with wet, sticking up at odd angles. She swallowed thickly, and cleared her throat. "Get dressed, or we'll never make it to breakfast."

"And what's _that_supposed to mean?"

"Daryl!"

* * *

><p>When they walked into the same room they'd had dinner in the night before, everyone was already gathered, groaning over plates of eggs and toast. Glenn was pale as a ghost, Amy sitting next to him, rubbing his back comfortingly. Lori was doling out tylenol to everyone except Dale and T-dog, who seemed chipper. Jim was no where to be seen, and Rebecca figured he was still sleeping it off.<p>

"Sit down, I'll get food," Daryl said to her, and Rebecca shook her head, throwing him a grin.

"You're such a caveman." He pulled a face that made her laugh and she moved to the empty seat next to Lori. Carl was on her other side, and Rick was across the room drinking coffee with Shane.

"Hey," Lori said conversationally. "How was your night? What was up with Daryl?"

Rebecca stared at the older woman blankly for a few moments, remembering back to yesterday and the way none of them had stopped when she and Daryl had found Merle.

"We found Merle yesterday," Rebecca told her in a quiet voice. She wasn't sure if Daryl wanted to tell anyone yet. "He was infected. Daryl had to..." she trailed off, not knowing how to put it.

Lori blanched. "The second time you stopped?" Rebecca nodded. "Oh, god. We thought you guys had stopped to... We had no idea. I mean Merle was a prick, but..." Lori cut her statement short when Daryl moved toward them, two plates of food in his hands.

Rebecca reached over and patted Lori's arm, before holding her hand out for a few of the pain killers she was holding. After a moment, Lori shook herself and doled out the pills just as Daryl sat next to Rebecca. He pushed a plate toward Rebecca, waved off Lori's offer of tylenol, and watched Rebecca until she took her first bite of food, before digging into his own.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: Okay, so, this is normally the spot I make some witty, funny plea for reviews, but I just finished watching this weeks episode of The Walking Dead, and DEAR SWEET BABY JEEBUS! After that ending, my mind is blanking on the witty banter. Episode did have some spectacular Daryl moments, though, even if there weren't enough. Next chapter will be out soon.<em>**

**_Catch you on the flip side, kids. _**


	15. Chapter 15

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Chapter: 15/17**_

_**Author's Note: It's me, it's me, it's Ernest T! Not really, just your MrsMonster, delivering another dose of Ace Nice and Gentle. And Golly, kiddos, there's mature content in this little chapter here. I variate from the show here, switching a few things up. Only two more to go! There will be a sequel to Ace Nice and Gentle, I've decided, titled 'Till I Get My Way. Does that excite you? I certainly hope so.**_

_**Enjoy my lovlies! **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 15**_

Once they all felt marginally human again, it was Andrea who piped up.

"As much as we appreciate this," she said to Jenner, "we didn't come here for the eggs." Rebecca set her fork down and pushed her plate away, reaching for Daryl's hand. He held it awkwardly, an action he wasn't used to, and they all looked at Jenner as he sighed and pushed slightly away from the table.

"What is it that you want to know?" he asked, voice startlingly calm.

"What caused all of this?" Rick asked, moving to stand behind Lori and Carl.

"How close are you to finding a cure?" This from Dale.

The room was silent as they waited for Jenner to answer.

With another sigh, he said, "We have no idea what caused the outbreak."

Rebecca let out an unbelieving breath, and Daryl squeezed her hand.

"It could have been viral, a chemical attack, a-"

"An act of God," Jacqui cut across him.

A small smile played around Jenner's mouth. "Or an act of God," he repeated.

"What about a way of curing it?" Glenn asked.

Jenner shook his head. "I've been working on that for months, and I'm no closer to finding an answer now than I was when I started."

"What about some one else?" Shane asked. "All of those computers in there, surely-"

"No," Jenner cut him off. "I haven't had contact with anyone, save all of you, since communications went down, about a month into the... whatever this is."

No one knew what to say. There wasn't anything to say. All of the hope they'd felt, dared to embrace, shattered and fell to the ground.

"There was a group in France that came close, but..." Jenner shook his head again, then looked at his watch. "If you'll excuse me." He stood from his chair and left the room without another word. Rebecca slumped back in her chair, pulling her and Daryl's combined hands into her lap. She felt helplessness and hopelessness fill her and swallowed around a stupid lump in her throat. A chair screeched across the linoleum floor, and she looked up to see Glenn standing, followed by Amy.

"We're just going to..." he drifted off, then grabbed Amy's hand and they left the room together. The rest of the people in the room seemed to dispatch in groups. Lori and Rick excused themselves, dragging Carl out behind them, followed by Jacqui and T-Dog, then Andrea drifted out with Jim and Dale, leaving Shane alone with Rebecca and Daryl. There was an awkward silence, then Rebecca got to her feet, and led the way out of the room, Daryl's hand still clutched in a death grip in hers. Back in their room, Rebecca sat down on the folded up Futon, and Daryl grabbed for the bottle of Southern Comfort that sat mostly empty on the coffee.

Rebecca watched him as he went to raise the bottle to his lips, then got to her feet and snatched it away from him. Ignoring his shout of protest, she took the bottle into the bathroom, and poured the dark amber liquid down the sink. The bottle dropped with a clatter into the bowl of the sink, and she turned around and glared him down as he glared back at her.

"What'd you go and do that for?" he asked.

"You don't need that."

"You fuckin' kiddin' me? After what he just said? The last fuckin' thing I want to be right now is coherent."

Rebecca walked toward him, fisted her hands in his sleeveless shirt, and pulled herself up on her tip-toes. "I said you don't need it. I can distract you much better than _that _can."

She saw him swallow thickly, and his eyes darted to her lips before she pulled him in for a bruising kiss. Rebecca was sure that this was likely the same thing Amy and Glenn were doing, probably even Jacqui and T-Dog. With nothing left to hope for, nothing left to look forward too other than cut-throat survival, what better way to ground yourself, even if it was just for a while? To make yourself feel alive, forget that there were walking dead freaks a few floors above them?

Not pulling her mouth from his, Rebecca fumbled with Daryl's belt, pulling it loose, then the button and zipper on his pants. She pushed them down, and Daryl practically twitched with excitement when she dropped down onto her knees in front of him.

"I'd fuckin' say you can distract me. What zombie apocal- _oh my gentle Jesus_," he moaned as she took him into her mouth as far as she could. His fingers laced in her hair as she moved, her tongue doing magical fucking things. His head fell back, a long groan climbing its way up his throat, then he looked down at the red head on her knees in front of him, and he nearly came right then.

Daryl pulled her off of him, and she looked up, wonderingly before he hauled her to her feet. Her questions were erased from her mind as his lips met her neck and he began ridding her of her clothing, doing the same with what remained of his own. Rebecca lightly pushed against his chest, and Daryl got the hint, sitting on the futon so she could climb on top of him. His fingers traced the bruises he'd left on her hips the night before, looking down to examine them with a pang of regret and shame. She coaxed his attention back to her lips as she tilted his face up, then sank down, impaling herself on him in one fluid move.

Daryl helped guide her hips in a rhythmic motion, and soon they were both caught up in the feeling, the pleasure, that neither could even remember where they were at that exact moment. Rebecca found her own pace, and Daryl's hands moved to her breasts to tease a gasp from her lips.

It was slow and leisurely, unlike most other times they'd been together, each taking what they needed from the other, making sure they both felt the delicious, mounting tension. Daryl made sure that she reached her point first with a few well placed flicks of his fingers, and the sight of her writhing had him following not long after.

He shifted them so that he was laying down, Rebecca sprawled across his chest, as they both tried to catch their breath.

Daryl's hands were playing with her hair, curling the ends around his fingers when the power in their room began to cut out.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: Ruh-ro. Kind of predictable what happens next to anyone who watches the <strong>__**show, but will it all go according to canon? Of course not. 'Till next time! **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Chapter: 16/17**_

_**Author's Note: Oh man. Oh man, oh man, oh man. I hope you like what I've done here, because I sure do. I don't want this story to be over ,but we're almost there, with just ONE chapter after this one. Just ONE. Keep up the awesome review work, mi amigos, and know, even if I am a fail at replying, I love all of my reviewers. Maybe a little TOO much...**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 16**_

First the air cut out, followed shortly by the overhead lights, leaving them engulfed in darkness.

Rebecca sat up quickly. "Daryl?"

"Get dressed," he said. "Hurry." Daryl was thrusting her clothes into her hands, and after some groping around, she managed to pull her shorts and t shirt on. Daryl was across the room, pulling the door open, letting yellowish light stream in from the hallway, and poked his head out.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" she heard him ask someone, but there was no answer. Rebecca was pulling on a pair of socks, then her boots, and moved to the doorway and peeked out under Daryl's arm. The rest of their group was streaming from their rooms now, all with the same confused looks on their faces. Just then, a door at the end of the hall opened, and Jenner walked out, wearing a clean, pressed dress shirt and tie, nice slacks and his lab coat. He swept passed them all without a word, ignoring their questions.

Rebecca moved as Daryl pulled back from the door way to shove his feet into his boots, then they were out of their room, following the others down the hallway, Daryl firmly holding onto Rebecca's hand, as if he were afraid he would misplace her in the crowd somehow.

"Jenner, what's happening?" Rick asked from up front, where he was holding Lori much the same way Daryl was holding Rebecca.

No answer from Jenner. He lead them through hallways and through doors, and finally into the cavernous control room. Rebecca had only been in this room once before, directly after they'd first arrived, and provided Jenner with samples of their blood for him to study and test. Rows of high-tech equipment and computers stood in a semi-circular fashion in front of an enormous projection screen. There was a digital clock mounted on the wall to the left of the screen, and Rebecca noticed for the first time that instead of keeping the time, it was counting down. There were only thirty-two minutes until it hit zero, and Rebecca felt the dread in her belly turn into a solid lump of fear.

Jenner headed toward one of the computers, but Shane grabbed him by the back of his lab coat.

"You're scarin' the hell out of people, what is goin' on, Jenner?"

"It's all over," Jenner said, looking around their gathered group. "It's done." His eyes flashed to the digital clock. "Time's almost up."

"What does that mean?" Dale asked. "Why is that clock counting down? What happens when it reaches zero?"

Just then the numbers on the clock went down to the thirty minute point, and they flashed red.

"Facility wide decontamination," Jenner said, eyes fixed on the clock.

"Jesus..." Rick muttered, turning to face the rest of them. "Everyone, go to your rooms and get your stuff. We have to get out of here."

Rebecca and Daryl were closest to the door, and they turned, but before they could take more than one step, a metal panel slid shut, locks engaging with a final sound. They skidded to a stop, Andrea, Amy and Dale running into them. They all lurched forward, then as one, turned to face Jenner. He was standing with his hand poised above a key pad laying next to one of the one of the computer stations.

Rebecca could feel Daryl's hand practically vibrating with pent-up anger.

"Did he just- did you just lock us in here?" she heard Glenn practically scream. Daryl carved his way through the group, dragging Rebecca along behind him, still refusing to let go of her hand. Rebecca felt like she was going to be sick as he marched up to a calm-looking Jenner.

She couldn't see Daryl's face, but she could see the strain in his shoulders and arms as he got into Jenner's face.

"Open the goddamn door! Now!" He finally let go of Rebecca as he grabbed the lapels of the doctor's lab coat and shook him roughly, and Rebecca didn't know what to do. She was shoved to the side by Shane who grabbed Daryl and pulled him off Jenner, who was staring wide-eyed at the furious man.

Rebecca had been pushed into one of the banks of equipment, and she leaned against it, staring at Jenner.

"What do you mean by decontamination, exactly?" she asked, voice a terrified whisper, remembering the 'decontamination's' she'd witnessed before leaving New York. Shane pulled Daryl by the back of his shirt toward the doors, where Rick tossed them axes that he'd liberated from their glass case next to the fire extinguisher.

"Do you have any idea what this place even is?" Jenner asked, not looking at her. "What we've protected the public from? Things that no one wants to get out, ever. In the event of a catastrophic power failure, the system is designed to shut down, and take everything in the building along with it."

"What does that _mean?" _Andrea asked.

"It sets the air on fire," Jenner said, and Rebecca felt bile rising in her throat as she looked over at Carl who was clutched tightly to his mother's chest. "No pain, just a split second..."

Rebecca jumped as Shane and Daryl began trying to break down the steel doors, and Jenner shook his head at them.

"That won't work," he said. "Those doors are made to withstand a rocket launcher."

She didn't see Daryl sprinting towards Jenner, axe raised high, but looked up just as Shane grabbed him again.

"He dies, and we all die," Shane told him, and Daryl threw the axe down as Shane released him. He moved toward Rebecca, reaching out to grab her by the hem of her shirt. Daryl pulled her against his chest, then backed them both up, and Rebecca felt the backs of her legs hit the computer banks. Her arms were around his neck, her face buried into her shoulder, and Rebecca let the tears she'd been holding in go, sliding down her face, soaking Daryl's shirt.

Daryl lifted her and set her on the edge of the computer desk, face buried in her long hair. His hands were running down her back, as if trying to feel every possible inch that he could reach. A sob tore up from Rebecca's throat, and she tried unsuccessfully to muffle it into his shoulder.

"No, goddamn it," she heard him mutter. "I'm not gonna let you die like this." Daryl pulled back from her, eyes suspiciously red, and cupped her face, bending down to cover her lips with his own.

Rebecca was trying to block out what was going on around her. She knew that these were her last moments, as the clock ticked closer and closer to zero, and she wanted to focus on Daryl. He was the only man she'd ever loved, and she wanted to spend these last few minutes of her life wrapped up in him. But as her lips moved against his, she felt him pulling away, looking down at her.

Daryl backed up a few steps, looking down at Rebecca's face, holding the hand that refused to let go of his shirt. He'd be damned if he was going to let her go out like this, all of the life that was in her snuffed out in a second by some doctor who'd been left alone in the dark for far too long. He pried her fingers away from his shirt, and moved toward Jenner again. He tried not to notice the people around him- Rick and Lori huddled against their boy, Glenn and Amy clinging to each other, one of Amy's hands holding her sister's. Shane and Jim were still swinging away at the door, and Dale sitting in one of the desk chairs, a blank look on his face. Jacqui and T-Dog sat on the floor next to each other, her hand clutched in his.

Jenner looked rightfully wary as Daryl walked to him, and backed him up against the computer bank behind him.

"You're gonna open that door. Right now."

"But, isn't it easier-" Jenner began, but Daryl wouldn't let him finish.

"Don't say a fuckin' word. Open the door, because I swear to God, if you don't, and _you're _responsible for killing the last thing in this fucking world that I love, I will track your ass down in whatever fucking hell we wind up in, and I will _stomp _your fucking ass."

Daryl was in his face, nose to nose, chest heaving with heavy breaths. Jenner swallowed thickly, and looked to Rebecca who was still sitting where Daryl's left her, tears streaming down her face, then back into Daryl's narrowed eyes.

"Everything topside is locked down, and I can't-"

"We'll figure it out," Daryl cut across him.

Another moment's hesitation, then Jenner reached behind him, swiveling to look down at the key pad. He pressed the buttons, and the doors slid up, and Daryl was across the room, grabbing Rebecca, and hauling her out of there. The footsteps of the others pounded thunderous against the floor as they all rushed out at once, not stopping to go back to their rooms for their things, instead heading straight for the stairs that would lead them up.

They reached the glass-encased front face of the building, and Rebecca remembered what Jenner said about it being locked down, and immediately looked around for anything that could bust through the windows.

"Everyone get back!" she heard Rick yell, then she saw him reach into the pocket of his uniform khakis and come up with what suspiciously looked like a hand grenade. Before she could voice any questions, though, Daryl was pulling her down and covering her body with his own.

The explosion rocked the room, but no one even dared take a minute to breath as they all surged up, and jumped through the glass pane that Rick had decimated with his pocket grenade. They ran across the once-manicured front lawn to where the vehicles were parked. Daryl opened the passenger side door of his truck and shoved Rebecca in before rushing around to his side. He pulled her face down into the seat, and she realized a moment later that he must have been keeping track of the counter in his head because she felt the ground quake and heard the largest explosion she'd ever heard in her life. Intense heat came across them, wave after wave of it, and then, just like that, it was over. Daryl sat up, removing his body from where it had been covering hers, and she moved up and took in the flaming remains .

They looked at each other, breathing in momentary relief, before Daryl pulled her across the seat and kissed her senseless. They pulled when they heard the R.V. start up. Daryl opened his mouth to speak, but Rebecca beat him to it.

"What in the hell was Rick doing with a grenade in his pocket?"

Daryl looked at her blankly for a moment, almost laughed, then started the blue truck with a crank of the keys.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: I'll see y'all tomorrow with the.. with the... l-last ch-chapter of Act Nice and Gentle. -runs away sobbing-<em>**


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to TWD.**_

_**Summary: Shooting someone in the shoulder is not exactly the best way to get to know a person. This is, unfortunately, just how New York refugee Rebecca Sumpter and hot-tempered country boy Daryl Dixon meet. Daryl/OC**_

_**Chapter: 17/17**_

_**Author's Note: Well, here we go. Hope you enjoy, and longer author's note at the end, which I hope you take a moment to read.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle<strong>_

_**Chapter 17**_

Rebecca jumped when Rick's voice came crackly from the floorboard of the truck, and she looked down at the CB radio she'd forgotten was there. She reached down and snatched the handle.

"Rick? Did everyone make it out alright?"

There was a bunch of static, then Rick again. "Yeah, everyone made it, far as I know."

"What's the plan, man?" Shane's voice came over the line.

"Let's just get out of the city, then we'll stop and regroup."

"See you there," Rebecca said, then dropped the handle back to the floor. She looked over at Daryl who was tense behind the wheel.

"So... what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?"

"What we should do next."

Daryl sighed and rubbed a weary hand down his face. "Grimes is gonna want to head down to Fort Benning, and I don't... think it's gonna turn out."

Rebecca toed her boots off and tucked her feet underneath her on the worn leather seat. "So what do you want to do?"

"I think we should head north. Geeks won't have sense enough to get out of the cold come winter. We could rough it out, and maybe come spring..."

"They'll be thinned out." Rebecca could see the logic in his plan, but she wasn't sure if the others would go for it. She told Daryl as much.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk about that."

She angled toward him in her seat. "Okay."

"Well..." Daryl looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I think we should go anyway. Whether the others decide to come along or not."

"Leave the group? Go out on our own?"

Daryl nodded, and Rebecca sat back, thinking. She didn't really want to leave the others. She'd grown close to some of them, like Amy and Jim, but she couldn't deny the merits of Daryl's plan. While the cold alone wouldn't take out the zombies, side effects from the cold could severely diminish them, like frost bite, for starters.

"Alright," she said finally, agreeing with him.

Daryl looked surprised. "Alright?"

"Yeah, if the others don't agree, we'll head north alone. I always wanted to go Canada."

"Well... alright."

Rebecca scooted across the bench seat toward Daryl, and sat with one of her legs touching his. She was thinking about what he'd said to Jenner, there at the end.

"Was what you said to Jenner true?" she asked. "About, you know, loving me?"

Daryl flushed red. "Are you gonna make a big deal out of this?" he asked, slightly flustered.

She smirked as she moved closer and he automatically adjusted to drape an arm around her shoulders. "Big deals aren't really my thing."

"Well... good." Daryl paused. "But I do, you know."

Rebecca smiled. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

><p>They arrived on the outskirts of the city shortly before dusk. As she suspected, the rest of their rag-tag group weren't receptive of Daryl's plan to head north. They were still following Grimes to the Army base, and she couldn't really blame them. Rick was a natural leader, the type of person who just reeked of that calm control that a person couldn't help but trust. He tried to talk them out of going off alone, but Daryl was stubborn, and Rebecca was with him, no matter what.<p>

"Keep the CB," Shane said to them. "Just in case you change your minds, and head back down this way. You can get in touch with us."

Daryl nodded, and after only a slight hesitation, reached out and shook first Shane's hand, then Rick's. Rebecca hugged Amy tight, and moved to embrace Jim, who picked her up into a bear hug.

"We'll see ya again," Jim assured her, and she nodded, wiping at sudden wetness that threatened to escape her eyes.

Rebecca and Daryl were in his old beat up blue and white truck, rolling away from the group who watched them go.

"Think they'll be alright?" Rebecca asked the man next to her.

"Don't know. Hope so." At Rebecca's surprised look, Daryl said, "What? They did alright by us, for the most part. Well, you anyway. I gotta be grateful to them for that."

Rebecca leaned across the seat and lightly kissed the side of Daryl's neck. "I love you," she said, in reality for the first time. Daryl's face was the shade of red that Rebecca found adorable again as he pulled her to his side.

"Yeah, yeah. So do I."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Act Nice and Gentle by the Black Keys:<strong>_

_**You don't need no fancy clothes**_  
><em><strong>Where'd you get them, goodness knows?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Just show some civility.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_

_**I don't need no luxuries,**_  
><em><strong>As long as you are understanding,<strong>_  
><em><strong>I'm not difficult to please.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_

_**Well I'm the kind of guy who likes**_  
><em><strong>To take you as I find you<strong>_  
><em><strong>So throw away those false eyelashes and,<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice, baby.<strong>_

_**Come on baby, hold my hand.**_  
><em><strong>Come on baby, understand, you gotta<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_

_**Come on baby, hold my hand.**_  
><em><strong>Come on baby, understand, you gotta<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Act nice, act nice and gentle to me.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: Okay, well, that's it. I can't believe I actually finished something. My therapist would be so proud. I want to thank everyone who reviewedalerted/favorited this.**_

_**Special thanks to calltheangels. Without her, I probably would've never gotten this finished. I feel like I made a friend there, and I hope she doesn't think that I'm a creepy creepster for saying so.  
><strong>_

**_Like I said, there'll be a sequel to this called 'Till I Get My Way which I plan to start outlining immediately. After I have a good... ten chapters of it written and polished up, I'll start posting. Act Nice and Gentle was pretty much incorporating Rebecca into the first season, and the sequel will be her and Daryl's story beyond that, taking it completely away from the second season. _**

**_I've never been good with goodbyes, so I'll just suck it up, and give you all a mental hand-shake. Hope to see you at the sequel- be there, or be square._**


End file.
